Rhapsody
by Alias424
Summary: Sequel to Wrestling Emotions
1. Unbelievable

Rhapsody

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Thanks to a bunch of wonderful readers and reviewers, here's the sequel to Wrestling Emotions.

In my opinion, this chapter's almost sickeningly sweet. You've been warned…

~~~

Merriam-Webster Online 

Main Entry: **rhap·so·dy**   
Pronunciation: 'rap-s&-dE  
Function: _noun_  
Inflected Form(s): _plural_ **-dies**  
Etymology: Latin _rhapsodia, _from Greek _rhapsOidia _recitation of selections from epic poetry, rhapsody, from _rhapsOidos _rhapsodist, from _rhaptein _to sew, stitch together + _aidein _to sing -- more at ODE  
**1** **:** a portion of an epic poem adapted for recitation  
**2** _archaic_ **:** a miscellaneous collection  
**3 a **(1) **:** a highly emotional utterance (2) **:** a highly emotional literary work (3) **:** effusively rapturous or extravagant discourse **b** **: RAPTURE, ECSTASY**  
**4** **:** a musical composition of irregular form having an improvisatory character

Chapter 1: Unbelievable

Sydney wasn't sure what she had expected. A flash of anger, a hint of regret, fear, sadness; confusion, perhaps, uncertainty wrinkling his forehead, flitting through his eyes and over his features, invading her own until they were both so far wrapped up in it that it would be nearly impossible to escape with their lives.

She had thought for certain that he would have been stunned to silence, shocked to stillness; too upset, too disappointed for immediate words or actions. She could hear the words she had expected to froth from his mouth and flood the air, snarling hopelessly in her ears, painfully bruising her heart.

Caustic questions, stinging statements, agonizing accusations…

_What? How? When? Didn't we…? Aren't you on…? How could you have…? I can't believe you could…_

But this was anything _but_ what she had anticipated, the complete opposite of what she would have expected from anyone… anyone else, forgetting that he _wasn't_ anyone else, that he _wouldn't_ react the same way. 

Because he was different.

He was Vaughn…

Kissing her with such rabid desperation that he stole the breath from her completely, victoriously naming himself its sole possessor, refusing to relinquish his hold. What would have been a nearly frightening display of pent-up passion and desire had it been anyone but him contrasted deliciously with the delicate, whispering caresses of his fingers lightly dancing along the skin of her stomach. The vibrant mosaic of colliding sensations that even such simple signs of affection brought forth was so intense that it was nearly enough in itself to hurtle her into oblivion.

Vaughn seemed on a mission to breathe the life from her lungs and stir her heart, bombarding her senses in order to make her forget everything else. It was as if he were out to prove something, even though he didn't have to, hadn't ever had to, not even that very first time.

Whether they were in the confines of a cramped closet, walking hand in hand on the streets of LA, or out underneath the twinkling expanse of the night sky… no matter where they were or what they were doing, something would wash over them, rain down upon them. Something so burning, so sweet, so brimming with raw emotion that it almost didn't seem right to merely call it love… but no other word existed that could describe it even half as adequately as that not quite prefect one did.

This feeling, whatever it was that had swathed itself around them and bound one to the other, fell now from the ceiling in drizzling droplets, so softly, so gently, that neither of them felt it. Neither needed to feel it to know that it was there, couldn't have imagined being together feeling any differently, any other way than it did at that very moment.

Existing solely for each other, in the here and now. Everything else evanescing, fading swiftly from their universe and melting away, lying in wait somewhere far off for a time when it could all return. Almost everything else, that is. Because there was one distraction that was persistent, that was able to worm its way back into being despite how they yearned to push it away; burning its way into their chests, adding to the lightheadedness and the pounding of their hearts.

The ability to hold one's breath for an interminable amount of time may seem a superfluous or silly wish to those not in fear of drowning, by water, passion or any other means, but neither Sydney nor Vaughn had ever wished for anything more desperately than they did for that in those few, too short moments.

Sydney gasped when he pulled away, frantically sucking in the oxygen of which she had been more than willing to let his lips deprive her. The slight fraction of space that wedged itself between their faces was barely enough to let the air in; her sudden, deep breaths causing her to shudder as she desperately gulped at the air, her lips quivering, brushing unintentionally against his.

Concern etched its familiar carvings into his forehead, eyes glistening with something resembling fear but not in the way she had expected them to. He seemed almost nervous about what he had done to her, immediately remorseful, more afraid than ever of breaking her, putting her in any position that might cause pain.

One of his hands was still resting against the smooth skin of her stomach, its fingers brushing softly back and forth in a sweet, almost apologetic caress. His other came up to frame her face, his thumb running tenderly against the edge of her bottom lip as she sighed into him.

"Sorry," Vaughn mumbled breathlessly, almost shyly, his lips trembling against hers as he spoke, guilt dripping madly from his words, flooding what little space there was between them.

But she tore that solitary word from his lips with abandon, pressing her own back against them, unable to remain apart from him for a moment longer. It was more than was needed to serve as her response; told him that it was okay, that he was welcome to steal the breath from her whenever he wished, that he hadn't hurt her but it wouldn't have mattered if he had… that she trusted him, that she loved him, that she felt fifteen again, too…

It was remarkable how such a small gesture could mean so much, how so many words could be conveyed in a single action, a solitary second. It never failed to blow his mind, no matter how many times this seemingly miraculous trick was performed, when her lips stole his and told him so much more than she was capable of giving voice to.

When they drew back this time, both were sufficiently out of breath, pausing for a moment to see if it could catch up with them, her forehead resting against his to keep her upright, to prevent her from melting into his arms.

"God… Syd…"

Vaughn's chest was still heaving as he spoke, the words barely able to fight their way through his panting breaths. He could just make out the glimmer of fear that had returned to her eyes, barely visible in the darkness, but to him it seemed glaringly out of place.

Sydney was the first to recover, the first to murmur something that resembled a full sentence, a complete thought. "I'm sorry, Vaughn… I…"

She wanted to tell him that she hadn't meant for it to happen, definitely hadn't planned it. That she hadn't tried to forget her birth control on that one long mission in Düsseldorf seven weeks ago, that she should have known better than to let his seduction tactics work during the seemingly interminable waits and plane trips, should have warned him that…

"Sydney."

Her full name from his lips, and she felt like a little girl whose mother had discovered her sneaking into the cookie jar; crumbs all over her face, chocolate smeared across the front of her once clean dress. Wrong, all wrong. And in such big trouble. She was supposed to have waited until after dinner, waited until…

"You have _nothing_ to be sorry for," he continued softly, stealing her typically habitual gesture for a moment and tucking a stray lock of hair back in place behind her ear.

His words soothed her, not so much with their collective meaning as the soft tone they were spoken in, the way they trickled from his lips in a jumble of commanding tenderness that somehow couldn't be any more right.

Anything he could have uttered in that tone of voice would have been enough to warm her, no matter what his words were. Yet, even this perfectly chosen phrase was not enough to kill off the doubt, to burn away the anxiety and sterilize her of it completely.

"But Vaughn, this changes everything. You, me… the CIA…"

"Sydney, listen to me."

He took his hands off her as he said it, the loss of contact nearly painful until he placed one on the back of her head and the other against her shoulder, pushing her gently back onto the bed. And it was oh so hard to do nothing more than listen to him when his face was so close to hers, his body draped over her own but not completely, insanely careful of her stomach and the little life growing within it.

But she did listen. Didn't have any other choice when his voice somehow transformed into an intoxicating blend of sugar and honey, sweetness and life, a hypnotic chant and the most soothing lullaby, a tender ballad and a whispered prayer…

"Syd…" His lips brushed against her forehead and peppered kisses on her face, resting for a moment on the tip of her nose before he pulled back and gazed into her eyes. "Screw the CIA… We've done it before and we'll do it again." The words were punctuated with an ironic smile, but the laughter soon left his eyes. "This is more important. _You're_ more important."

"But Vaughn…"

His eyes had adjusted just enough to the darkness, his heart was so attuned to her own, that even with his own shadow falling over her, he could tell that the fear had not quite left her eyes, was slinking somewhere within their dark depths, hoping to escape further into them without being found.

She was right, of course; at least partly. This was going to change _something_; it had to. And it _was_ frightening. A curveball thrown to the two of them that was so different than anything they had had to deal with before. So wildly, crazily normal that it was almost too much to deal with.

What they had had with Ilya had been far from normal, at least in the beginning. Not once had one of those perfect television families Vaughn used to watch as a kid brought home a child that had survived a Russian massacre and babysat it as part of their job for the CIA…

And then, just as it had started to approach something resembling normalcy, just as the child had begun to feel like their own, he had been taken away, soon to be nothing more than a fleeting memory in the ever-changing tumult that was their lives.

It was strange how something so seemingly normal could throw them so completely off balance. There was so much room for error, much more so than on any mission, any assignment. Nuclear weapons and secret codes were child's play. But they would soon have a whole kid's life that could be screwed up if they made so much as one wrong move.

She had every right, every reason to be scared, but…

"Some things _will_ change, Syd," he murmured, his lips just far enough away from her own so that he could look clearly into her eyes. "But I love you. Nothing's _ever_ going to change that."

"Vaughn…"

"Don't…" he interjected, quickly cutting her off before pausing, eyes locking on hers. He had been expecting her to protest, to need more than his words to be convinced, knew better than anyone how stubborn she could be. But she had murmured his name so softly, so innocently that… "Syd, baby?"

His hand had returned to her stomach, his fingers inching under her shirt and stroking a soft, tickling pattern. She smiled faintly at him, bringing her hands up to run them through his hair.

"Thank you." _I love you, too…_

Vaughn didn't tell her not to thank him, not this time. He heard the four words that echoed in its wake, knew she needed as much reassurance as she could get, that this could be a difficult time for both of them. No matter how many truths he fed her tonight, how many sticky-sweet _not-quite-lies-but-not-quite-truths_ he provided on any other day, both of them knew that to say the CIA was not going to be pleased with their newfound information was a _bit_ of an understatement.

So instead, he planted a quick kiss against her lips, inching his way down to her stomach in a gesture that meant more to both of them than an infinite amount of the sweetest words ever could have. Tenderly lifting her shirt, he sprinkled a whispering ring of kisses around her belly button, his murmured, "Unbelievable," trembling against her skin.

"Mmm," she agreed softly, a sigh escaping where words should have been, allowed because they had already talked so much that night, because the confusion, contentment and anxiety that had tangled itself around that one breath of air spoke more to him than her words could have.

She had softened, but had yet to be completely convinced. Strange because it was something she had subconsciously been dreaming of for weeks, even more so the past few days, letting her mind wander through the fanciful gates of _What It Would Be Like to Have Children of Their Own_. But she had only had the courage to wiggle her toes a few inches within that dreamlike meadow before retreating back to stark reality; it had still seemed more a fantasy than anything else, a pink candy cloud that would eventually float through the air and join all other lost dreams in the hidden depths of the sky.

Silence enveloped the two of them in its comfortable embrace, and she took a few seconds to gaze into his face, his expression one that she had only seen a few times before. Lighting up his eyes the moment after he had first kissed her; when she had answered his mumbled _Are you sure…?_ by searing her lips onto his, pulling desperately at his arms and yanking him into the closet; when he had taken her hand and led her into his apartment for the first time, the rest of the house waiting until they had thoroughly examined the bedroom…

She had memorized it, savored it each and every time and here it was again. It had been dancing in his eyes for awhile, since the second she had told him; but she had been blind to it, just now able to open her eyes and finally see the joy and almost childlike wonder that had grabbed hold of his features, refusing to let them go.

And as if his face alone wouldn't have been enough… His voice was a dream floating to her on the wings of truth, fluttering in that small space between his lips and her ears and singing softly into them.

"We're going to have a baby."

There was that breathtaking, heart-stealing, blindingly gorgeous smile; the only action that could truly make her understand the emotion behind his words without bringing a screeching, if desirable, end to their conversation. Michael Vaughn had been taken captive by wonderment, given himself up freely, didn't know how long it was going to take him to break free into belief, reality, and didn't care if it took forever.

Six months ago, he would have never thought it could have been possible… Okay, _possible_ was probably (_no, definitely_) the wrong word. He couldn't remember how many times he had _almost_ initiated activity that could have had the very same end result, thrown her up against the chain-link fence, a storage crate, that metal chair, and…

A baby… One of their very own, that they didn't ever have to give up, give back, that could never be taken away. A child that could be cared for by both of them, grow up with its mother and father, shown to the world.

He tilted his face up to intercept her gaze once again, making sure she understood his words full well, that there could be no mistaking how he felt about all of this; that in a world brimming with uncertainty, it could be the one thing she would never have to fear or doubt.

"Amazing, Syd… This. You… _You're_ amazing."

Just the right amount of emphasis placed on that one word. Both of them remembered the exchange that had taken place before they had gotten together, well over a year ago; both of them noticed the switch. The words were the same, but this time he didn't have to hide the fact that he really and truly meant them for her, didn't even have to try to play the game, to remember the rules.

They were equally aware of it; both caught the difference, one that might have seemed so slight, but in truth meant the world. Vaughn's voice was a little softer than it had been that day by the flower stand, a little more stress placed on that first syllable; just the way he would have whispered it back then if…

"I am not amazing."

But her response was the same. The sentence coming just as quickly after his, in the exact same order. Except this time, instead of drifting through a hint of a smile as she tried to hide her pleasure at his implied compliment, the words fell from her lips and scattered before them, crumbling like the blocks of a four-year-old's tower, threatening to shatter the whole of their carefully constructed fantasy world in its aftershocks.

"Syd…"

Vaughn raised his upper body, propping himself up on his elbows, looking into her eyes in an effort to wash them clean of all doubt, fight away any leftover fear. His lips parted as he searched for the words, grasping at any letters that might be able to form them.

_I love you._

He wanted to tell her everything, to show her how wonderful, how truly unbelievable this was, let her know that there couldn't be anything better that could happen to two people who were so much in love, who wanted to spend the rest of their lives together.

_I love you._

He wanted to tell her not to be afraid, to reassure her as no one else could, but somehow he lost the words. The reins of speech flew from his grasp, most of the letters of the alphabet slinking out of his reach and hiding in the shadows, only five stepping forward, nearly tripping over themselves in their effort to leap to his tongue and…

"Marry me."

Flying out of his mouth before he had a chance to think, to stop it, not sure if he would have wanted to, would have even tried to prevent its exit. Straight from the beating of his heart to the vibrations of his voice without any interjections from reason, seeming to startle them both with its quick confidence and tender intensity.

A plea, not a question. Nearing a command, while still lingering on the edge of a request. His tone so soft and gentle, still so afraid that she would reject him, that this all had been a mistake, the biggest one he would or could ever make in his entire life.

But Vaughn didn't regret the words. Not even during that tenuous, tedious split second after they had been spoken, when the silence was thick and heavy, nearly blocking her from his line of vision. Nearly, but not quite, because he could see her eyes screaming to him in answer, the _yes_ so loud that he could feel it rumbling through his soul, that its echo nearly burned into his ears. But snagged on the way to her lips, intercepted by reason, twisted by thought, pummeled by uncertainty and…

"Really?"

A question that seemed so absurd that there was a part of him that almost wanted to laugh, to shake her, to pick her up and take her from whatever nightmare had grabbed hold of her, carrying her with him into his living dream.

"Yes, really…" _Of course, really… Come on, Syd, don't you know only truth can be spoken in the dark?_

In all honesty, he didn't know if he could ever survive without her, would certainly drown in sorrow, lose himself to despair; could never find anyone else he could ever love and cherish and respect as much as he did her. He had to bite his tongue to stop the strangled _please?_ that threatened to jump from it, didn't want to beg, to force her into a decision she didn't want to make…

"And not just because of the baby," he added, shifting his weight and grabbing her hand as it slipped instinctively towards her stomach, interweaving her fingers with his own and pressing his lips against her knuckles before continuing, wishing he could pretend to possess even a thread of control when he was around her, that he could somehow make this better, more romantic, more…

"Syd… Ever since I kissed you, ever since I met you, I've been waiting for the perfect moment... But every second I spend with you is more than perfect and I'm tired of waiting. I know I don't have the ring yet, and we don't have to do it now or even soon… I just want (_need_) to know if (_that_)…"

"Yes."

The word had barely left her mouth when he sought out her lips again, unable to get enough of them now that they were finally together, alone, that she was his forever. He was drawn to them, to her, as if she had bewitched him, put him under her spell. And he wouldn't have cared if she had; if this was a spell, he hoped it was one that would never break.

"You don't know how many times I've been dying to ask you that," he breathed into her ear, breaking from her lips to nibble gently on her neck. She could feel him smile against her skin, laughing at the memory of his fever-induced delirium. "Well…"

"You know…" Sydney interrupted, bringing her hands up to pull his face in front of hers the split second before his tongue reached the spot just below her ear, the place they both knew would drive her completely mad with want and pulverize any hope of continuing coherent conversation.

She found his eyes searching hers, burning into them once he was satisfied that even the smallest specks of fear had disappeared. It was enough to nearly drown her in the urge to pull him back to her again, almost made her forget what she had been about to say.

"I wanted to say yes that night, even though I knew it wasn't…"

Vaughn's lips silenced hers, diving back in for another taste of the syrupy sweetness he was so insanely addicted to, a drug so powerful that it should have been declared illegal, that he would have continued to use even if it had been.

"It's real now, Syd."

But still so much like a dream. A fairy tale sprung to life and presented in vivid color, people taking over for the puppets, every sense heightened, every feeling magnified a thousand times until they were so colossal that she thought the sheer weight would crush them both.

Was it possible for something to be both real and imaginary at the same time? Had her life somehow gained the ability to delve into the world of fantasy and still manage to be better than any dream, any thought she had ever had?

She had known before that it was real. It had hit her with a sickening slap the moment she had dared to open her eyes and steal a quick glimpse at the results of the store-bought pregnancy test. The split second after the sudden, strange elation had left her and she realized that it probably wasn't such a good thing, that it shouldn't be happening…

But this was the first time that it really sunk in. His words drawing it deeper and deeper beneath her skin, through the thousands of pathways her veins provided, plunging into her heart and pumping back out again, never changing. The intensity of feeling so overwhelming that she just barely saw Vaughn's dimpled smile making its stunning entrance as he watched her, felt his breathing grow shallow as the air tangled in his lungs, knew that he couldn't believe it either.

This was real…

_Her stomach swelling with the child she carried… their child._

_That look on Vaughn's face again, the one that spoke truly of love and amazement, when they first heard the heartbeat, saw the ultrasound…The way he was so overcome with emotion that he nearly cried right in the middle of the doctor's office. She saw the tears glistening in his eyes, but didn't say anything; they were a reflection of her own…_

_His eyes lighting up when they felt their baby kick that very first time, still retaining their glow all the times after. It never failed to astound him, never failed to bring that look into his eyes, to stop him from whatever he was doing, render him speechless…_

_The way he continued to worship her as no one else ever had, rubbing her back through morning sickness, holding open doors, making dinner, cleaning the apartment, doing the grocery shopping, continuing to show her each and every day how much he loved her, how absolutely normal this was, how perfect…_

A living dream that had sprung from a living nightmare, from her life with SD-6… or the life she had been denied because of it. But now it wasn't dress-up or pretend or even part of her job. It wasn't something they would have to give back, give up when a week was through, something that would be fake, a lie.

It was life. It was real. It was _theirs_. It was…

"Vaughn…" she began, his last name falling from her lips by force of habit, because she was still used to it, it still seemed so right. But he needed to hear something else from her tonight; she knew it and provided it willingly. "Michael… we're going to have a baby…" _We're getting married…_

The incredulity and amazement was in _her_ voice now; her smile genuine, all the fear melted away with the sweet caresses of Vaughn's lips and hands, the gentle words he had spoken, and the bright prospect of life, a _normal_ life, that lay before her.

He nodded and smiled, beyond words at this point, couldn't put together a single coherent thought aside from the fact that even by laying next to her, nearly on top of her, it felt too far away; that he wanted nothing more at that moment than to…

Neither of them got much sleep that night, spending the hours memorizing each others' bodies once again, making sure that even though everything had changed, some things hadn't, that _they_ were still the same. Each needing the other more than anything, never able to get enough; having to remind themselves of tastes, sights, scents, smells and sensations minute after minute, hour after hour until they both nearly passed out from fatigue. They drifted off to sleep practically on top of each other, not bothering to move, get dressed, or do much more than pull a sheet over their exhausted bodies as the sun threatened to infringe upon their sweet darkness.

It was a sleep so deliciously satisfying that not a single dream dared to trespass within its borders. Jealous of how real life had taken a sudden turn into their realm and frightened of the competition it forced upon them, all dreams decided to leave the two slumbering agents to their rest until they could come up with something better and once again give reality a run for its money, not realizing that they would have to wait well beyond daylight until that would happen…

~~~

My apologies for any sickness or cavities that resulted from reading this chapter.

If you do want more, there should eventually be a plot, there a just a few things that have to be taken care of first…

Please tell me what you thought, and let me know if I should quit while I'm ahead. We could always write this off as a late epilogue…

Thanks for reading! :D


	2. Overwhelming

Rhapsody

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Wow! Thanks for all the great reviews, everyone! I'm going to try to be good through this whole story; since you're all nice enough to respond, the least I can do is reply…

**Caz**: hopefully this will keep the angry reviewers off my back. ;) 

**vaughnandsydney**: I agree. We could definitely use some fluff with this season. And you're right… there will eventually be angst here too…

**angelmeg**: Hope your night at work went well. Prepare for more sugar… ;)

**amy**: Thanks! I'm glad you like it.

**neptunestar**: Aww, thanks… I hope you like this part, too…

**Natalie**: Don't worry, it shouldn't be an evil plot… There's still _way_ too much fluff to write into this before anything else happens…

**Brynne**: Wow… You don't like S/V stories? I'm honored! And thank goodness for those hot Cheetos (hopefully these next few chapters won't kill you)… Thanks!

**ProvidenceSea**: Your wish is my command. :)

**Bridget**: Thanks for responding! I'm glad you like both stories. 

**Raina**: Smiles are good. :) I don't have any author alerts, but my review alerts have been screwy. I got an email for one like three days after it had been posted…

**Liz**: Don't melt too much! Then you won't be able to read! ;) Thanks for reviewing.

**valley-girl2**: Thanks for taking the time to respond. I hope everything's okay in your family :( … And here's some more edited in, because like with lightning bug's review, it's only just letting me see the new one… Okay, you said that I took all the words so there weren't enough for you… But you have seriously stolen whatever was left over. I think I'll just have to go with your old standby: You. Rock… Thanks!

**Kiki**: Here you go! ;)

**Sarah9**: There _shouldn't_ be anything as too sweet, but sometimes… I'm glad you liked the first chapter of this, and the other story, as well. Thanks!

**lightning bug**: Sorry this is late. Apparently your review has been there for days, but it's only just letting me see it now… Here are more baby antics coming your way... ;)

~~~

Chapter 2: Overwhelming

_Soft stringed notes, chords plucked from a distant piano's ivory keys, penetrating woodwinds, and the hum of brasses tumbling through daybreak. A symphony of crickets and birdsong, the wind breathing around him, seeming to come from everywhere at once, rustling the long grass in al directions. A steady, rhythmic thumping keeping time for the concerto:  the beating of a heart._

_The sun rose in the sky, and only then did he realize that everything had been black and white and shades of gray before. Blues and reds and greens and yellows whirling around him in the wind, their strength and brilliance fading the monotonous gray out of existence as they found their proper places, just the right balance and hue._

_Tints of green swam under his feet, whispering over and clinging to the grass. Midnight blue hanging over his head, as textured as velvet, speckled with glimmers of silver and gold, the dark night sky an eerily beautiful contrast to the dazzling sunlight that had settled around him, warming him with its sweet embrace._

_Not even the wind could chill him as it shifted, coming impossibly from below, seeming to issue forth from the rainbow of flowers that had appeared around him, winking their different tints through the sweet-smelling grass._

_When he looked down, tried to ponder this strange phenomenon, wonder how it could be possible for the wind to blow in that way, he found a baby in his arms. An adorably, exquisitely perfect child with deep chocolate eyes, ears that stuck out ever so slightly,  and a dimpled smile that he barely had a moment to marvel over before the tiny child suddenly transformed before his eyes, in his arms: the diaper now a sweet pink jumper, the hair darker and curling softly at her shoulders, the still small  fingers reaching up to his face, planting themselves on his cheeks and pulling him closer. A pure, melodious murmur issuing forth from perfect, pink lips…_

_"Daddy."_

_Repeated around him over and over, an ever-resounding echo singing in his ears. Two children in the meadow, now, and three, and four… Little boys with sandy hair and chiseled features, girls with sweet dimples and specks of green sparkling through their brown eyes…_

_The child in his arms hoisted herself upwards, her fingers tapping against him, demanding his attention. A delicious, almost sly smile curling her lips as she placed them against his in a sticky kiss. He ran his fingers softly  through her hair when she pulled back, surprised to find the slight curl gone, the strands longer, thicker; the eyes almost startlingly  familiar this time. He gazed into them questioningly, all confusion disappearing when he saw the woman he now held in his arms, when she pressed her lips up against his own._

_The sun silently snapped out, the murmuring children tiptoeing away so that only the two of them remained, draped in the comfortably dim, shadow-filled light that was meant for the two of them alone. Her lips lifelike, persistent, the sensations so vivid, so real that…_

Vaughn was stirred from sleep with a long, lazy kiss, gladly let Sydney pull him from one dream into another, responding eagerly and carefully pulling her closer as soon as he halfway understood what was going on.

"Syd…"

It was half mumbled, half groaned; a sorry attempt at speech, his mind still half asleep, his body tingling as she pulled away, before things could begin to get out of hand, before he had even had a quarter of a chance to savor her sweet flavor. 

And only then did he bother to halfway open his eyes, instantly noticing the almost scared glint in her own, immediately bringing one hand to her cheek, the other brushing against her stomach where their child slept.

"Syd?" A question this time, framing all those he was too afraid to ask. 

"Vaughn…"

A hint of a smile played on her lips, laced with anxiety and a sudden inexplicable shyness, as she put her hand over his own where it rested against her stomach. She was probably the only woman who would ever wake a man the way she had woken him and then murmur what she did next.

"It's time."

Her two words couldn't have been any more foreign to his ears if they had been spoken in Afrikaans, Swedish, or Taiwanese; any more absurd-sounding if they had alluded to the presence of little green men on the moon, Eric actually declining any sort of pastry, or Vaughn himself even considering kissing, marrying, _loving_ any other woman but her… 

His eyes snapped open completely, green seeking out brown and settling there, instantly detecting the tinge of razor-like fear cutting through all other emotions, knew that his own eyes must have reflected hers, because…

"_What_?"

It was all his brain came up with when he reached up, desperately grabbing for any letters, words or sounds to let her know that he heard her. How could it be _time_ already? Hadn't she just told him yesterday…?

It had seemed so incredible then, so amazing. It still was, but in the surprise of those first few moments… They hadn't been able to keep their hands off each other, making love into the wee hours of the morning, their hunger insatiable, only exhaustion capable of bringing an end to their activities…

It _had_ to have only been yesterday… or maybe the day before, because Vaughn could remember every single event of that night and the next morning perfectly, had memorized the glimmer in her eyes, the feel of her skin, her exceedingly brilliant smile…

He had gotten up relatively early that morning, considering what time it had been when they had finally closed their eyes. And even though it had been nearly painful to leave Sydney's side, he had whispered a kiss against her forehead and carefully disentangled himself from the sheets and her limbs, leaving the sanctuary of their bed and quickly showering and dressing.

He had left the apartment quietly, quickly scribbling Sydney a note not to worry in case she woke before he had come back. But upon his return just under an hour later, everything had been exactly the same as he had left it. His errand had been quick and simple; by then even the clerk had known exactly what he had wanted, had practically had it waiting for him when he had arrived.__

Tiptoeing into the bedroom, he had gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, knowing without a doubt how tired Sydney had been and not wanting to wake her, the fact that she hadn't stirred when he had taken her hand proof of it. Reaching into his pocket, he had carefully slipped the slender golden band onto her finger, watching as the metal and diamonds winked in the few rays of sunlight peeking in through the curtains.

He had been completely mesmerized, barely resisting the urge to kiss her, still unsure how he had managed it at that moment and every one since then. She had sighed in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible and reaching out for him, trying to snuggle closer to where he should have been, her forehead furrowing slightly when she had realized he wasn't there.

Wanting more than anything to restore the soft smile to her sleeping face, he had taken off his shoes and slipped back into bed next to her, linking his right hand with her left, loving how the cool metal had felt against his fingers; had been content to lay by her side forever and simply watch her, waiting for her eyes to open.

It hadn't happened the way he had thought it would, her eyes hadn't softly fluttered open and smiled into his. Instead, she had snapped awake only a few moments after he had once again wrapped his arms around her, jumping from his grasp and all but flying into the bathroom.If either of them had been aware that this was to continue as their morning routine for the next few weeks, perhaps it would have shaken the foundation of their perfect world, added even one tiny crack for doubt and hesitation to sneak through…

But had been by her side in a minute, and before this thought could have wormed its way through the sweet French Vaughn had been whispering in her ear even moments later as she had brushed her teeth, her eyes had run lazily from the mirror, to the sink, to where her left hand had rested on the edge of the bathroom counter.

Nearly choking on the foaming toothpaste, Sydney had quickly spat it out, turning in his arms and finding his lips on her own, transforming what would have been a surprised, _"Vaughn!"_ into a strangled moan. She had still had her toothbrush in her hand, had been fumbling behind her to put it on the counter; a clatter telling him that she had given up trying to place it and had thrown it against the hard tile, her hands coming up to tangle in his hair.

Vaughn had been unwilling to give her up, let her breathe, but she had eventually turned away. He had been unable to concede so easily, letting his lips linger on the corner of her mouth as she had whispered, _"Vaughn… I thought you said…"_

His words had vibrated against her cheek as he had spoken, his lips still pressed against her skin. _"I went out this morning… I just couldn't wait."_

_"I didn't even hear you leave."_

He had chuckled, adoring how her smile had grown impossibly larger at the sound of it, running his fingertips lightly along her cheekbones. _"You were out cold."_

Turning her gaze away from the ring on her finger to smile into his eyes, her own glazing over as the memories from the night before had flashed behind them, projecting themselves into his mind as well... _"Well…"_

_"Yeah…"_ Vaughn had breathed in response, cutting her off both with that and his mouth, which he had suddenly found to be on her own, hadn't known how it had gotten there.

_"Vaughn, thank you…"_ Sydney had sighed, resting her forehead against his own. He knew she had been fumbling to find the words, that she hadn't understood that none were needed, that the look on her face when she had seen it, her gorgeous smile, had been enough… "_It's gorgeous… Really... Perfect..."_

_"Not half as…"_

Sydney had brought her fingers to his lips to silence him. It had probably been a good thing, because he had still been searching for just the right word to incorporate gorgeous and perfect and amazing and everything else that she was. He was always speechless when it came to her.

_"Michael… I love you… so much…"_

And that right there had been more than perfect. He had had nothing, no words that could have ever responded to that, could have searched until the end of time and still wouldn't have found them. But they hadn't needed words. Not when eyes and lips and hands had spoken so much better…

Vaughn was the kind of guy who could barely remember what he had had for breakfast once lunchtime rolled around, even he was willing to admit to that. If he could remember something that well, see the footage play out in his mind, better than any movie because the sounds, tastes, and sensations were still there, still so stunning, so genuine…

It _had_ to have been only yesterday. A few days ago, _maybe_, but…

Something brushed against his fingers. Sydney's hand, he realized as he laced her fingers instinctively with his own, squeezing them lightly. Resisting the urge to pinch himself, to make sure this wasn't all a dream.

Her hand was shaking, or maybe it was his own. He didn't know for sure, but it didn't matter. More likely than not, it was both of them, the trembling of one transferring to the other automatically, both so nervous, so giddily happy. Bringing their joined hands out from the warmth beneath the covers, he held them to his mouth, his lips resting on her skin instantly, knowing just where it interlaced with his own.

"It's time," Sydney repeated, her murmuring voice tiptoeing to his ears, their hands still intertwined, the fingers on his other hand brushing softly against her stomach.

This was real…

He had danced his fingertips along that same surface every night since she had told him. Every night for months, never missing one as long as he was by her side, calling her those few nights he had been sent away on missions, asking her to hold the phone to her belly so he could whisper their baby his goodnight. It had become their bedtime ritual, one he almost hated to have to do away with so soon. But he knew they would find others to replace it, others that would be so much better because he would be able to hold their child in his arms…

He would wait until she was already laying down, already resting her head on his pillow, before crawling into bed beside her, worshipping the radiant smile this had never failed to bring to her face. Lifting her shirt and pressing his lips to the soft skin he found there, the silence between the kisses had filled with his whispering voice. The first time, he hadn't even known what he had said, hadn't realized until Sydney had told him that it was the French lullaby he had used to soothe Ilya to sleep, the very same one he had promised, without words, to sing to their children someday.

One night, he had stopped in the middle of the lullaby, in the middle of a lyric, a phrase, a word. His lips millimeters from Sydney's skin and freezing there, his heart beating wildly, air choking in his lungs as he suddenly forgot how to breathe.

Sydney's eyes had been anxious at first, questioning, when she had intercepted his gaze, tilting his chin upward with a gently placed finger. But the moment she had seen his face, she had known, laying her hand on his so that together they could feel the tiny bulge, barely more than a slight curve on her usually toned stomach, but so much more than that… _their child_.

A tear had found its way down her cheek, and without moving his hand, he had leaned forward to kiss it away, finding her lips instead and letting his own linger there. And there had been nothing more sweet than that moment, nothing more full of emotion than that kiss had been. So deliriously slow and burning and loving that it hadn't even taken a second to render him nearly unconscious.

Neither of them could have pinpointed the exact moment when it had begun to escalate to something more. Neither had even realized that this had transformed into a kiss that couldn't have been shared out on a street corner or in even in daylight, until he had felt his shirt coming over his head, had found his hands in the process of ridding Sydney of her own, their fingers once again lacing and finding their place on her stomach without any material to hinder them.

And with anyone else, the rampant passion and uncontrollable lust that had suddenly broken through the surface would have been considered corruption in a kiss that had started out so tender and gentle. 

Anyone but the two of them.

Because nothing had been more sweet, more natural than that slow, smoldering escalation; passion and love hand in hand, one lifting the other to reach new heights, blending, intermingling until the two sensations were indistinguishable, had become one vibrant explosion of color and flavor and fire and beauty.

Any separations for air or the removal of clothing had been slight, Vaughn pulling her back to him immediately, somehow always finding a way to bring her closer than before. Eventually, slowly, naturally, their hands had crept away from her stomach, humming over new patches of skin.

The rest of the lullaby had had to wait…

That seemed even closer than yesterday, only hours ago, perhaps. And it seemed like it had been such a short time ago: minutes, seconds, fractions of them, since he had last pressed his lips against her expanding stomach, murmured the ending lyrics and tilted his face up to meet her waiting eyes. His words finding their way to her in the darkness the two of them loved so much…

_"Seulement quelques semaines de plus..."___

But wait…

Slowly, slowly, slowly, realization dawned, fought its way through the dangerous, mind-numbing haze of sleep and amazement. In reality, it must only have been a few seconds, a few short moments for it all to flash through his mind. They had only gone to sleep a few hours ago. And it _hadn't_ been that long since…

"Vaughn?"

Sydney had detected the change in his eyes, the cloudy film that anxiety had pulled down over them; he could tell the instant he looked up and saw his own eyes mirrored in hers. Even under the pressure of darkness, he could see her, would have noticed even if he had suddenly been struck blind, lost every memory of every sensation except what it felt like to love her, to be _in love_ with her.

Anxiety had been tiptoeing through her deep orbs when she had woken him; he had seen it playing there like a child sneaking through the bushes to the neighbor's swing set without asking for permission. But it had been overpowered by elation, a shock of happiness mixed with disbelief and the still all-powerful amazement, quickly pulling naughty little anxiety pouting back to its own yard.

That sparkle of happiness was gone now, the fear had latched on to its shins with tiny, pointed teeth, refusing to relinquish its hold and bringing what had once been the sovereign of her eyes, the king of playground of her emotions, tumbling to the ground, howling and scrambling to shake the little monsters of apprehension off its stinging legs.

Vaughn wanted more than anything to soothe her, but couldn't; found the same little demons nibbling at his ankles, gnawing his kneecaps. Why had something so seemingly small and normal suddenly sprung to monstrous proportions? How had real life become so much more dangerous and difficult than _any_ mission?

"Syd…"

He leaned toward her, nipping softly at her lips in a mostly failed effort at reassurance, trying to convince himself that what he saw glimmering on her lower eyelids, catching in her lashes, were tears of joy. He gently disengaged his hand from hers before jumping out of bed, tripping as his legs tangled in the sheets and just barely saving himself from falling flat on his face.

"Syd, it's too soon."

"I know," she whispered, so quietly that he felt her voice more than heard it, that if he hadn't been looking at her, hadn't known her as well as he did, he might not have known she had spoken at all.

Regret washed over him the instant she spoke, the moment he caught sight of the shadow of snarling fear looming over her. Well-fed on small insecurities, its shape had mutated from a mere playground bully into something life-threatening, jaws snapping, waiting a few seconds longer for when it could sink its already bloodstained teeth into her flesh and relentlessly suck the life from within her, licking her clean of every last drop, every last chance at happiness.

Vaughn wanted desperately to shake that shadow away, kill it, dissolve it, send it hurtling from the room and out the window, melding into the cool darkness of the night air. But whatever words he might have uttered to frighten it away clumped in his throat, threatening to choke him if he even dared to open his mouth, not surrendering no matter how hard he fought against them.

Sydney sat up suddenly, maneuvering awkwardly to get out of bed, and he broke free from the ice that seemed to have frozen him in place and scrambled forward to help her. Even with the added weight of the baby, she was still so light, and he easily lifted her out of bed and placed her gently on her feet, whispering a kiss against her forehead in an effort at something resembling reassurance. Not sure if it had worked at all as the shadow grew larger, mingled with that of doubt and uncertainty, loomed over them both. 

He started to move away from her to grab some clothes out of the dresser, but her hand on his wrist held him fast, pulled him back towards her. Vaughn stood like a statue before her, knowing he had to talk, had to think of something, anything that would make this better; didn't understand where all the words, all the bliss, all the excitement had gone.

He lifted his gaze to find her eyes a question, complete with the proper inflection and punctuation, her words almost unnecessary. But she offered them anyway, needed him to answer, to tell her that everything was going to be okay, that this was going to be the happiest day of their lives, that he would protect her from anything, that… 

"But," Sydney murmured, that single word brushing the fangs of fear away from her neck, her question serving as the garlic that was needed to ward off its vampiric silhouette for a few moments longer, to send it careening across the room in agony. "Not _too_ soon… right?"

_Too soon… too soon… too soon…?_

To a myriad of other subjects, this inquiry had a definite negative answer. _…too soon to be completely head over heels in love? …too soon to need her more than air? …too soon to ask her to be his forever? …too soon to plan the rest of their lives?_

But with this, he wasn't so sure.

Numbers flew through his brain at an alarming pace as he attempted the suddenly amazingly difficult task of mental math...

_Ten and four and take away six and carry the one and…_

Hurtling back in time and finding himself at his desk in third grade, behind little Eva; her blonde pigtails temptingly close to his outstretched fingers. He was so close, only a few more inches to victory, to the high-pitched shriek that was sure to be his medal of honor, to raise him in the esteem of all the other little boys in the classroom.

The sudden crack of a ruler vibrating his desk, the epicenter of this miniature earthquake frighteningly close to his other hand. Sister Perpetua's nasally voice demanding the answer to a drawn out mathematics problem. Something about apples and pigs and a boy named Oliver; something that had way too much to take away and add on and put together and think about, seemed much too difficult for his little brain to determine.

And he stood, voice trembling as he fumbled his way through the numbers, his classmates tittering with laughter as he failed miserably, wanted to sink under his desk and through the floor, away from the classroom forever. Jade eyes flashing with frustration and anger, the color rising in his little cheeks as a hot tear escaped from its eyelid-prison and slid down the tip of his nose, earning him the nickname _Cry Baby_ for the rest of that year and still into those that followed…

Now those same numbers were just as out of reach, tucked away somewhere in the dark, damp recesses of his mind, mocking him with their inability to be found; their tongues wiggling before his face, taunts echoing in his ears. And for a few frightening seconds, it was almost too much for him to bear… 

But one look into Sydney's eyes, one glance at her beautiful face and body, the pressure of her fingers still clamped tightly around his wrist, afraid to let go… It was all the assurance he needed to pluck an answer from the air and place it before her. He let the numbers laugh, willed the color from his cheeks and the worry and frustration to subside.

Sydney didn't need numbers or statistics; neither of them did. She didn't need him to tell her that they should both be sleeping peacefully right now, that they shouldn't have to worry about this for awhile yet, that if he had had enough fingers to count the days and weeks and months, he would have known that their due date was not for almost another three weeks…

She needed him, and he could never, _would_ never, deny her that, would always be there to put his arms around her, to offer her his strength when her own failed her.

"No." His voice was strong somehow, a smile finding its way to his lips; the wonderment returning and fear's curses fading away in the wind, its feet scratching through the tree branches and scuffling down the sidewalk, far away from their bedroom, their life, their paradise. "Not too soon."

They had been waiting for months, ever since she had whispered those words to him. It seemed both yesterday and so long ago since they had tickled his ears, since he had had to pinch himself every morning to make sure he really was awake, that this wasn't all a dream…

_Michael… Actually, I… We… You're going to be a daddy…_

They had been waiting, dreaming, living, breathing it for so long. The reality of it spiraling wildly around them when they had walked into the doctor's office for the first time, hands linked. His palms must have been sweating profusely, he hadn't known if he would have been able to survive if the results of the official pregnancy test had come back negative, had known by the childlike and almost painful way Sydney had grasped at his hand that she had felt the same way. But the doctor had smiled when she had returned with the results, and…

"Sydney… we're going to have a baby."

And this time, not in a few months, weeks, or even days… They were talking hours, minutes, seconds… Now…

"Yeah," she breathed, his smile infectious, making its way to her lips as well.

The moment was perfect. The two of them standing hand in hand in the dark, as close as he could be to her without pressing too hard against their child; still so much in love, if possible, more so than they had ever been before. Their smiles wider and more innocent than two children playing outside on the first snow day of the school year.

Vaughn took his hands from hers to frame her face, couldn't ever remember having loved her more than he did at that moment, even though deep down he knew he had, knew he thought it every time he looked upon her smiling face. He wanted to tell her how much she meant to him, how she had completed him, made him more whole than he had ever thought possible…

But before the words could find their way out of his mouth, she quivered in his arms, cringing and bringing a hand down to her stomach, the other on his arm to steady herself, trying to swallow the gasp managed a soft escape from her lips. In reality, it was a sound barely louder than a sigh. To him, it was an agonizing shriek, more painful on his ears than fingernails on a chalkboard, his freshman dorm fire alarm, and Arvin Sloane's voice all mixed into one.

Happiness fleeing quickly, running off to a remote location, grabbing his dimples and the twinkle that had been in his eyes, making sure that no hint of itself was left behind in his features. Concern returned in its wake, blowing in on an imagined breeze, clouding over the two of them, and splashing wrinkles onto his forehead.

"You okay?" Vaughn asked, holding her tightly to steady her, to keep her on her feet; trying to caress away the pain, wishing he could bear some of it for her.

Sydney nodded, eyes squeezed shut, unintentionally tightening her grip on his arm. Time froze as they stood there, not melting and ticking again until she took a deep, shuddering breath and finally opened her eyes.

"I think…" she began, her voice a harsh whisper.

But he pressed a soft kiss to her lips, stealing her words and murmuring them softly into the little space between them. "We should go."

~~~

Loosely, Vaughn's French translates to "Just a few more weeks...". This was determined with a little help from AltaVista and much advice from **Dream Writer 4 Life** and **Agent Lainie**, my French Consultants (Thanks!)  
  
On a positive note, this chapter turned out better than I first thought it would, so at least you didn't get the initial versions... Hope you don't mind the time warp too much…


	3. Crescendo

Rhapsody

~~~

**caz**: Haha… Thanks! Vaughn really is such a great guy… And hey, I'd take a sale over this any day. Saving money definitely comes first in my book. ;)

**Sarah9**: I would have had this up earlier if everything hadn't decided to go crazy this week. I hope this is soon enough… ;) Thanks!

**Valley-girl2**: I know I say this every time, but seriously… There are just _no_ _words_ at all… The amount of time and effort you put into that is astounding… I had to scroll through five screens! You amaze me and I love it… Thank you _so_ much, both for that and for your recent review of WE, which was a lovely little treat. :)

**Natalie**: Thanks for the review! Here's some Jack for you, and don't worry. No evil Irina.

**Lightning bug**: Sorry for the confusion... Your parenthetical cracked me up. What can I say, I'm easily amused… Thanks!

**Brynne**:  I was concerned that people might kill me for skipping everything, but I'm glad you liked it. And I wouldn't have wanted to be responsible for the deaths of any of my reviewers. :) Thank you so much!

~~~

Chapter 3: Crescendo

Thus far, it had been a classic pregnancy; they had hit every milestone right on the mark. Morning sickness had come and gone when it should have, Sydney had gained just enough weight to be considered healthy, they had gone to all their checkups, she had done the right exercises, eaten the right foods, taken vitamins… She wasn't supposed to feel the first contractions until the morning of their due date, which was when they would then drive calmly to the hospital, bag packed, everything ready.

They of all people should have realized that not everything goes according to plan, that their world was far from perfect, that there wasn't a world in this universe that was. They should have known that even normal, everyday things never happened exactly the way they were supposed to, that it would have been strange if they had.

So instead, Vaughn flew around the house like a madman, much like any other father-to-be would have. He quickly helped Sydney dress and threw some clothes over his frame, forgetting that the shirt he pulled off the floor was stained with last night's spaghetti sauce, not noticing that his socks didn't match, wouldn't have cared even if he had.

Refusing to let Sydney move to help in the slightest, it was almost surprising that he didn't forbid her to blink her eyes, offer to breathe for her or control her heartbeat. He sat her tenderly on the edge of the bed, scurrying around to pack some things into a bag, knowing just what she would need, right where everything was. He accidentally grabbed some of his own shirts instead of hers, hurriedly yanking them out of the drawer and throwing them in the bag, surprisingly hadn't already realized that she would have liked it better that way, preferred anything that was his to her own.

With a few whispered words and two quick kisses (even as rushed as everything was, he would never forget to show his love for her or their child), they left the apartment hand in hand. A flurry of excitement and nerves tingled in their path, shimmering after them and seeming to tinkle through the chilly, early morning air, alerting the few stars that had managed to sneak their way past the city's glare, rejoicing as they twinkled with a renewed vigor, gladly offering to light the way.

Their drive to the hospital alternated between egregious violations of the speed limit and a near-crawling pace that even the tortoise in the fable wouldn't have had trouble matching. Vaughn wanted to get to the hospital as soon as possible, and would have broken a thousand laws in the process and arrived at its doors in record time… If every glance to the right hadn't brought Sydney into his view, automatically easing his foot off the gas pedal, bringing it to a nearly upright position after practically touching the floor. He would have _never_ willingly put her or their child in harm's way, but couldn't control how heavy his foot had suddenly become, was lucky he remembered how to drive at all…

He helped her step out of the car, gazing up at the hospital that loomed before them, their gateway to a new world, a new life. And from that moment on, he refused to let go of her hand; held it firmly while juggling a clipboard full of forms and a pen, as they wheeled her down the hall and helped her into bed… But she held on just as tightly, probably wouldn't have given his fingers back if he had attempted to extricate them from hers, so it was just as well that he never bothered to try.

Hearts fluttered wildly as the hours progressed, deep breaths taken to calm quivering nerves and ease the pain they were both in: hers without a doubt physical and real, his starting in his chest and radiating outwards, his heart threatening to tear in two as he watched her suffer. He knew she was, even though she tried not to show it, could tell the moment a contraction hit her by the way her hand tightened ever so slightly on his and her breathing would change just enough to not be considered completely normal.

He wanted to help her, attempted to kiss away the pain, whisper just the right words in her ear. Whatever those words were or whether they had actually been spoken, he couldn't tell; knew that something had been murmured, but not what it was. It didn't matter so long as Sydney's eyes stayed locked on his own and something resembling a smile curled the corners of her mouth. Didn't matter as her lips somehow became temptingly close to his own as the minutes progressed, drawing one into the other, flinging them from reality into a fantasy world.

A sound from the doorway wrenched them apart better than a well-placed crowbar. Vaughn's face flushing a deep crimson as he jumped backwards, stammering a hello as the nurse stepped into the room. She chuckled softly at Vaughn's reception, making her way across the room to her spot by the bed.

"French…" she murmured, sighing. "You two definitely win the prize for sweetest couple on this shift. Most of them are tearing each other's eyes out by this stage of the game."

Vaughn grinned softly at Sydney, bringing their entwined fingers up to his lips and kissing her knuckles gently, this exchange, if possible, even sweeter than the one just moments before. It brimmed over with a tender innocence that couldn't have been in any other action, wouldn't have curled its way around any other couple. 

The nurse looked up from her proceedings and smiled. "Still on the honeymoon?"

"Actually," Sydney answered, wincing as the nurse continued to examine her, hoping that this time really would be the last. "We're not married…"

"Yet," Vaughn finished for her, unsure why he felt the need to add this; had to bite his tongue to keep a further explanation from springing from his lips, to stop him from pouring out how he would have married her years ago, how crazy their life had been and still was, how they had been waiting until after the baby was born for things to calm down...

"That must be it," the nurse answered with a laugh, hardly believing that such true and pure love could survive outside the bindings of a fairytale; her childhood dreams, like most others, shattered by the dim and grotesque shadow of stark reality that masqueraded as life.

Neither Sydney nor Vaughn answered or even dared to smile in response. Both knew that that wasn't it, that what the two of them had was too good, too seemingly unreal to be easily explained to anyone else, too much for anyone but the two of them to understand.

With a murmured promise of _Only__ a few more hours_, the nurse scurried from the room, leaving the them alone with the ticking clock. Seconds to minutes to hours… the sudden bursts of pain drawing closer and closer in constant warning. The collar of Vaughn's t-shirt starting to dampen as the moment drew nearer, as the combination of exhaustion, exhilaration and apprehension continued to boil to a nearly lethal level, curling its fingers around his neck and massaging tension into his muscles instead of relaxing it away.

"Vaughn?" Sydney asked suddenly, eyes widening with what he mistook as pain, immediately ramming his heart against his chest with the thought that something might be wrong. Her next words dispelled his fears, but only momentarily, new ones shuffling into the mix to take their place. "Will you call my Dad? He doesn't need to come, but… I just think he should know…"

The soft, whispering way those words were spoken was almost enough to make him forget his near-panicked, not-entirely-unfounded fear of Jack Bristow. It _was_ still relatively early in the morning, after all, and although the two men had been on better terms of late, there would always be something about that man that scared the hell out of him, although he wouldn't admit it for the world.

"Sure, Syd." His words were soft, his radiant smile adding the _Anything__ for you. Always._ that he couldn't find the breath to speak.

Reaching to dig his cell phone out of his pocket, he quickly discovered that it was missing, overlooked in the early morning scramble and more likely than not still sitting on the bedside table sandwiched in between Sydney's phone and an alarm clock that had probably been going off for quite some time.

He grinned sheepishly at her, kissing her hand softly before untangling her fingers from his own, the loss of contact breathing ice over his skin, a tingling he knew she felt too as she curled her hand into a fist and brought her other arm over it. "I have to…" He paused as she nodded, the rest of the words unnecessary. "Will you be…?"

"Mmm," she hummed, nodding again and fruitlessly attempting to get more comfortable, knowing that it wouldn't be possible, that it would only happen when his fingers were once again laced with her own. Her eyes pleaded with him to hurry. She would never actually beg, wouldn't tell him that she didn't want to be long without him.

But he already knew, and placing a chaste kiss against her lips and wrestling the impulse to let his own linger there, he smoothed her hair behind her ear before hurrying from the room. "I'll be right back."

Quickly finding a payphone and grimacing when his fingers dove into his pockets and resurfaced without any change, Vaughn mentally kicked himself as he dialed the Collect number and waited for the phone to ring. His mind racing with the events of the past few months, one whirring so quickly past the other that trying to focus on a select few was nearly enough to make him sick. One finally catching on a nerve as the phone rang, the suddenness of it making Vaughn stumble through his own name when the automated voice asked for it, and he reeled with the abrupt memory: the one conversation he was glad never to have to have again…

_"… and we're very glad to have the two of you back on active duty."_

Vaughn had continued to fiddle with his pen as discussion had floated around him. A few words had drifted into his ears and brushed against the surface of understanding, but as none of them had been his name for quite some time, there had been nothing that could have shaken him from his thoughts. He hadn't even been sure what this particular mission had entailed, but had been desperately searching for a way to get Sydney out of it… and all those that were sure to have followed…

_"Couldn't Weiss go instead?"_

All glances had shot in Vaughn's direction. Jack's open mouth informing him a moment too late that the senior agent had been in the middle of a statement. Sydney's eyes had met his own almost too briefly for him to read her expression, immediately flitting back down to where her left hand had rested on the edge of the table; her engagement ring had been taken off that morning, placed reluctantly on the nightstand until they were ready to share their happiness with the world… and the CIA.

Vaughn had swallowed, knowing that even after only wearing it for a few short days, she had felt naked without it, had known that it was killing her inside only because it was destroying him as well, pounding steadily on his already-crumbling foundation. But he had understood, too, that the absence of the ring hadn't been the only thing bothering her, could have sworn that in that split second she had allowed her eyes to meet with his own that he had seen gratefulness, fear, relief…

Devlin had cleared his throat, sighing at Vaughn's sudden outburst. _"If you'd prefer, Agent Weiss can take your place in the van and you can stay behind to…"_

_"For __Sydney__."___

A silence so heavy he had felt it bearing down on his shoulders, had almost let the force of it push him down in his chair, carry him into the darkness under the table and through the floor. The electric lights had hummed overhead, making the unnatural quiet even more excruciating, increasing in pitch until it hurt his ears, seeming to charge the air with tiny particles of electricity and tension, a hazardous mixture, worse than gasoline to a flame.

_"For __Sydney__?"_ Devlin had finally asked, to bring an end to the silence if nothing else. Every single person in that room had heard Vaughn speak; they had all known who and what he had meant.

_"Agent Bristow…"_ Vaughn had tried, attempting to maintain some semblance of professionalism, knowing that the director knew Sydney's first name as well as he did and that that had not been the issue…

_"Hang on a second,"_ Weiss had interrupted, waving a hand. _"Maybe I didn't hear right, but didn't part of the mission include running around in **that**?"_ he had asked, gesturing toward a skimpy red dress that Vaughn had assumed the tech guys had managed to rig up with some kind of special equipment. _"Unless you expect me to lose 200 pounds and grow breasts by Wednes…"_

Jack's bordering on life-threatening glower had stopped him mid-sentence, a grumbled apology bringing it to a hurried conclusion. Devlin had begun to explain exactly why it was necessary for Sydney to go on this mission, and (as skilled as he was) how Weiss would _not_ have done for a replacement.

But Vaughn hadn't heard any of it. A thousand scenarios tumbling head over heels through his mind, each worse than the next, none involving him ever getting to hold his wife and child in his arms. He had never been able to sleep well while Sydney was away on one of her missions, ever since that very first one the CIA had sent her on. And over the months, it had steadily worsened to the point of insomnia, although he wouldn't have confessed that to himself or anyone else.

But that had been before he had really gotten to know her, been allowed to or even considered the possibility of loving her, and now…

He nearly had a heart attack every time he watched her walk away from one of their covert meetings, hoping against hope that he would soon see her coming back towards him; almost died whenever he watched her spring out of the back of the van, waiting with baited breath for her to yank the doors back open again...

He would have surely, without a shadow of a doubt, internally combusted, asphyxiated, bled and choked to a most painful death if he had to send his fiancée _and_ their child…

_"She… we… we're pregnant."_

Bubbling forth from his lips before he had had the chance to stir it back. He should have had more control, been better trained… That had been the second time in a matter of days that unbidden words had sprung to his lips. The first time had worked out for the better, but this… They hadn't had a chance to talk about it yet, to discuss when they would…

Weiss' choking had flung him back to reality, hurtling him staggeringly closer to it with each deep cough and sputtering intake of breath, as if someone kept hitting the breaks, had been trying to keep him from returning.

Vaughn's hand had found Sydney's fingers and his eyes had locked her hers, a shrieked, unspoken _Sorry_ passing between them before he had even thought to look anywhere else, to see if his friend was all right or actually in any real danger of imminent death.

A hastily placed coffee cup had sat on the table in front of Weiss, coffee dribbling down his chin as the coughing fit began to subside. Jack's tie and suit front had been unmistakably damp, a fine spray of droplets glistening on his face. Whether the liquid had actually helped to cool his suddenly scarlet features, however, was still an issue up for debate.

Weiss had eventually petered off to silence. Devlin hadn't said a word, relinquishing authority in this instance to those the issue had truly concerned. Jack had taken one look down the front of his suit, apparently deciding that it would need to be cleaned anyway and angrily wiping his sleeve across his face.

He had leaned forward, as if by being closer to the two of them, he could have frightened what he would have deemed a more correct answer out of them. _"You're **what**?"_

Vaughn had opened his mouth to answer, but the increasing pressure of Sydney's hand on his own had stopped him. _"Dad,"_ she had begun, her voice soft and slow, _"Vaughn and I are…"_

_"I heard what he said, __Sydney__,"_ Jack had interrupted vehemently, speaking as if to a child, frustration and surprise stealing his words and transforming them into meaningless questions. _"Why?... How?"_

This had been followed by a stony silence. One that Weiss had been more than happy to fill now that his trachea was filled with air and not burning liquid. _"I don't think much has changed in 30 years in that respect, sir. I'm assuming the same way you and your wife…"_

Another death glare that surely would have killed anyone unlucky enough to find themselves in its path. But Weiss had somehow been immune to it; silent, but still breathing, the waves of heat and ire emanating from Jack's eyes merely bouncing off instead of burning to a crisp.

_"It's just not like you to be so irresponsible, Sydney."_

Sydney had been poised and ready to respond with anger to whatever her father had said; could match fire with fire, and win among the best of them. But this almost fatherly disappointment had caught her off guard, had not been something she was used to, and in Vaughn's eyes, had been a low blow on Jack's part.

Sydney had lowered her eyes, color burning to her cheeks, ignited by embarrassment and sparking pink into his own. No one, not even her own father, had the right to speak to Sydney that way, to make her feel inferior or shameful for something so…

_"With all due respect, Jack…" _Vaughn had been surprised that he had even been able to find five such words in his vocabulary, had spoken them with such restraint and civility. 

But Jack had put a hand in the air to stop him, turning his attention to Weiss and Devlin. _"Would you excuse us?"_

Devlin had nodded and risen from his chair, muttering that Sydney should see him in his office when she had a moment and that they would continue the briefing after lunch when a new course of action could be drawn up.

Weiss had been following the director towards the door but stopped behind Sydney and Vaughn's chairs, putting a hand on each of his friends' shoulders. To this day Vaughn wasn't certain of the motive behind his words, probably would never figure it out as long as he lived. But whether his friend had had a death wish for himself, Vaughn, or both of them together…

_"Come on, Mr. Bristow. You can't really blame them for wanting to reproduce these genes. I mean, look at them."_ He had turned to go before anyone could respond, but looking over his shoulder had added,_ "Mike, if I were you, I'd pray that the kid has Syd's nose."_

Vaughn had been sure that this would be it, that he and Sydney would have to flee the country, constantly moving about to remain one step ahead of the wrath that was Jack Bristow. He had been about to rise from his seat, to plead with Sydney to follow and run as fast as their legs could carry them, when Jack had shocked every thought out of him with the use of his first name.

_"Michael." _His voice had been dangerously serious, seemed to have been digging Vaughn's grave with every breath and uttered syllable._ "Do you love my daughter?"_

Vaughn hadn't been able to suppress a slight sigh of relief. If that had been the sole question on _any_ test, he would have passed with flying colors… _more than water, more than air, more than money, more than himself, more than life, more than anyone or anything…_

_"Yes."_

_"Good."_ Jack had stood and made his way over to their side of the table.

Vaughn had scrambled to his feet, helping Sydney up as well, the uncertainty tripping through her eyes had been enough to tell him that everything probably wasn't quite over. She had been right.

Jack's voice had been low and harsh when he spoke again, the combination noxious, nearly enough in itself to inflict more damage than a machine gun fired at close range. _"Because if you **ever** do **anything** to hurt her in any way, shape, or form, I **will** kill you… Have I made myself clear?"_

Vaughn had only been able to nod, somehow managing to put his own hand into Jack's when he had reached out to shake it. He hadn't doubted the older man's words in the slightest, but they still shouldn't have frightened him; Vaughn had no intention of _ever_ causing Sydney any pain, would have killed _himself_ the second he did.

Giving his daughter a quick and surprising hug, Jack had nodded towards her left hand, offering a small, soft smile. _"You should put your engagement ring back on,"_ he had stated matter-of-factly, heartfelt emotion shining through his stony façade for a few short moments before once again smothering itself. _"It's obvious that you miss it already."_

Ignoring her look of surprise and not bothering to explain that he had, like Vaughn, seen the way she had glanced at her bare finger and subconsciously fiddled with the small area of skin that should have been safely covered by cool metal and passionate love, Jack had spoken once more before at last quitting the room.

_"Congratulations. On both accounts."_

They had watched him leave, neither daring to move, blink, or breathe in those few moments following Jack's departure, lest the slightest motion would have shaken them into reality and they would have woken to find it had all been a dream. Finally, Vaughn had pulled Sydney close and she had molded herself into his arms, her head laying against his chest and sighing with satisfaction, a perfect fit every time…

Even now, all those months later, that memory still managed to fill Vaughn with a mixture of emotions. So vivid that the uncertainty, disbelief, anger, amazement, and fear were all in attendance, entering at their proper places, following the same cues they had that day, inciting the same responses from their audience of one…

But before he had the time to contemplate it any further, to let the show of emotions continue on to what had happened next, before hope and love and passion could make their long-awaited and dazzling entrance, he became suddenly aware of a voice booming in his ear.

"Vaughn. Is there a reason you're calling me Collect at 7:47 on a Tuesday morning?"

It was a valid question. Jack had, after all, been trying to get Vaughn's attention for quite some time now, but its clipped and harsh delivery startled Vaughn to momentary silence, the vividness of the voice in his recollection so real that anything resembling a coherent and timely response skittered away in a flurry of heartbeats and prickling skin.

"We're… we're at the hospital."

"Is Sydney all right?" The question was quick, echoing in Vaughn's ear before he even had time to finish his own statement. Concern was evident in the hurried tone, but before he had the time to wonder why he had even been anxious about making this call…

_Sydney__…_ Sydney was all alone. Alone with the pain, the anxiety, the bristling fear and doubt that kept stealing upon them, that they could will away when together, but… He needed to get back to her, had taken far too long already, and…

"Jack. It's time."

"What?"

Had he thought about it, it would have been funny. The exchange so closely mirroring that which had taken place with Sydney earlier, his own role switched this time as he assumed the strength that she had had, became the one that had to impart the news…

"The baby…" Vaughn trailed off, running a nervous hand through his hair. A handful of heartbeats found their way between his statement and Jack's response.

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

Not quite the reply he had been expecting. He had been waiting for a calm and collected _All right, let me know how things turn out_ and that would have been the end of it. Even Sydney had…

"No, Jack, Sydney said…"

A click and the dial tone interrupted him. He hung up the phone with a sigh and hurried back to Sydney's side, taking her hand before uttering so much as one syllable. Her eyes had been closed when he entered and she didn't open them, didn't ask what her father had said or answer his worried _Are you okay?_ with anything more than a swift nod.

His forehead wrinkles dug impossibly deeper, threatening to burst his skin and split his skull. Vaughn had been prepared for the worst. He had heard the horror stories; Weiss had made sure of that: the swears of pain and anger, the husbands and boyfriends who had their hands broken…

Weiss had even felt the need to share with him that one time on _A Baby Story_, the husband had had to leave the delivery room and go down to the ER for an arm x-ray and seven stitches to a forehead laceration sustained by an expertly thrown coffee cup. Weiss said that they might have shown a happy ending on the show, but that was just a publicity stunt, the magic of television; he was sure that that relationship had ended with bitter tears, lots of screaming and divorce… _"But hey, technically you and Syd aren't married yet, so… nothing to worry about, right?"_ A wink and a sorely place elbow had completed this statement, but Vaughn hadn't laughed. He had even been too anxious to ask how Eric's television had ended up on TLC, much less remained there during the course of a show like _A Baby Story_... 

He had been expecting Sydney to scream, to yell, to grind the bones of his fingers to powder, and curse him for ever putting her in this situation, swear that after this was through, she never wanted to lay eyes on him again…

But none of that had happened. Vaughn had been glad for it at first, but doubt was starting to creep up on him. He could hear it rustling the bleak, sterile curtains, its harsh whispers lurking in the voices of passersby, and its high-pitched laughter eclipsed by the squeaking wheels of passing carts.

They had both been fine after the initial anxiety had been allayed with the doctor's reassurances that their baby was healthy, and three weeks wasn't _too_ soon. They had been told that the hospital had thousands of success stories of children born even earlier, had the best facility in the area for premature births, and that they should instead focus their worries on saving for their child's not-so-distant college tuition.

Sydney had seemed fine with this information at first, had been almost giddy with sudden intense excitement. But the hours were wearing on them, and it hadn't taken long for the elation to flake away. Now the contractions were worsening, coming so much closer together and it wouldn't be long until…

Vaughn could hear shrieks and groans echoing through the halls, women in neighboring rooms going through the same stages of labor as Sydney was. It would have sounded like a funked-up old movie's version of an insane asylum… if it weren't for the cries of newborns and joy that would reach his ears periodically. Often enough to give him hope that all the pain would end for her soon, that people weren't kidding when they said it all became worth it the second you took your child into your arms.

Vaughn looked up, trying to find Sydney's eyes, to tell her once again that it wouldn't be long now, that he loved her more than he would ever be able to put words to… But he found her eyes still closed tightly, a single tear somehow squeezing through the lashes and trickling down her cheek, jack-hammering straight into his heart with every hair it progressed, stealing his breath and tauntingly waving it just out of his reach.

"Syd, baby…" he whispered, near tears himself as he kissed hers away, concentrated on not letting his voice crack with the torment of sudden understanding.

She had been through so much pain in her lifetime, so much torture and anguish. That in itself should have been the worst of it… but it wasn't. She had become used to it over the years, grown accustomed to remaining stoic, stifling her cries and tears, not letting the enemy know that it hurt, that her defenses were crumbling, that she really _could_ feel. And even though here there was no one to hide from, no reason to…

"Syd…" he murmured, bringing his free hand up to brush against her cheek, imploring without words for her to open her eyes. When she did, he continued, staring straight into her depths, amazed at the strength he still found there, despite everything she had gone through and was even now. "It's okay to… to cry… to _feel_…"

His voice ran out on him there, tittering off into the distance, thinking it had played a fine trick with its early departure. But Sydney didn't need a complete thought or sentence for reassurance, to know what he had meant. She answered by tightening her grip on his hand, leaning forward and pulling his lips to hers, sending him into a tailspin unlike any other, swirling him in a crazy spiral through space and time, filled with quiet French whispers and reassuring caresses, wrinkling foreheads and looks of concern, smiles and tears, pain and fears…

He didn't know how time had passed so quickly after that, how it had suddenly become mid-morning and he found himself in a gown and cap, standing by the head of a bed in the delivery room. Sydney's fingers were still laced with his own, had been for every minute that made up each of the long hours they had been waiting, separated only for those few moments he had left her side to use the phone.

And he was glad that this time, he could feel the pain in his fingers, that she had finally realized she could transfer that little bit onto him, that he wanted to help her any way he could, even if that meant breaking every bone in his hand…

Everything moving so quickly now, and for a moment he nearly panicked, wasn't sure if he was prepared, if he was ready to be a father, to have such an influence over one tiny person's life. Maybe Sydney had made the wrong choice in picking him; maybe somebody had gotten their stars and wires crossed, wrongly connecting the two as soul mates; maybe he should have let her be with someone else, someone who…

But those fears were unfounded, and it was too late to turn back as her grip on his hand tightened impossibly, a spark of intense pain flaring and tapering off into numbness. Sounds scampering around the room, reaching his ears in an order that didn't quite make sense… Clicks and beeps and the sigh of rustling cloth, groans and murmured numbers, reassurances that came from someone other than himself because his voice was caught in his throat, lost in the fray; the slap of hands against objects, the two of them breathing in unison and _That's it, Sydney. One more push_…

A sudden, sharp wailing quickly became the sweetest song he had ever heard. Rising over the din, shushing everything else with its mere presence; smiles sparking, kindled by slight wonder, kept aflame by an intense awe.

Vaughn caught half a glimpse of dark, damp hair, a tangle of glistening, wiggling limbs. The rest of the image swimming before his eyes, blurred by tears that wouldn't fall. His hand automatically brought Sydney's fingertips to his lips as her hold on him loosened, knowing even without a direct message from his brain not to let go. His eyes locked on the new life before him, the tiny, beautiful, perfect child that he and Sydney had created together.

"Congratulations, Mom and Dad…"


	4. Divine

Rhapsody

~~~

**neptunestar**: Aww, thanks… I'm glad you like this. :)

**caz**: Procrastination is what gets this story written. ;) In my opinion, Vaughn is the sweetest guy _ever_… And I'm glad to know that you can follow the time switches. I was a little nervous about that as I was writing, but it was the way it had to be.

**Sarah9**: Yes, if we just got rid of that "whole Lauren thing," everything would be absolutely perfect. Thanks for reviewing!

**valley-girl2**: Okay, seriously… ;) I think you beat your longest review with this one… I hate titles, but once in awhile there will be one that just _works_… Hmm. Putting on the hospital gown while holding Syd's hand. I guess I gave Vaughn some added talent there. ;) Oops… Your reviews don't amuse me (well, they do, but not in the way you were implying). They make my day… Wow. I think it would actually be interesting to see one where you _didn't_ restrain yourself. ;) Thanks again for taking what must have been an insane amount of time to write that review. I love it!

**Aquarius4**: Thanks! I'm happy you liked both the stories. Hope this is soon enough for you… ;)

**Natalie**: Your question shall be answered. ;) Thanks for taking the time to review!

~~~

Chapter 4: Divine

He wanted to pinch himself, so hard and for so long that the evidence of it would be black and ugly, both a painful and joyful reminder of reality, something to let him know that this wasn't all a dream. But he couldn't remember where his fingers were, much less how to bring two of them together to grab his own flesh. Life-maintaining reflexes aside, he couldn't move a muscle, was having enough trouble making sure that air kept steadily entering and exiting his lungs to even think about doing anything else.

It was fortunate that in those few moments, he forced himself to gulp in oxygen, and let it out with steady, hissing breaths. Because a fraction of an instant later, in the amount of time it took for his blinking eyelids to cover only half his field of vision, he was too far drowned in mirth and wonder for even one infinitesimal air molecule to squeeze its way into his chest.

Three words so wonderful that they nearly killed him, were almost the last he ever heard, buzzing repeatedly through his ears, reverberating off his eardrums to their own wild beat. Stars and stripes and solids swimming stormily before his eyes, confusing his mind and vision, dizzying him beyond belief until he was sure he must have been swaying visibly, would keel over any second and…

"It's a boy."

Dancing a few more frantic steps before slowing and steadying to catch its breath, the picture before him focused enough so that he could see the child that doctor was proudly displaying: two eyes, two ears, a nose, a mouth opened wide in a beautifully piercing scream; ten fingers, ten toes… So tiny, almost seemingly too small to be alive, to be real…

And it _was_ a boy. After the initial shock ebbed just vaguely enough to allow thought to function, that was the next thing he checked, uncertain why he thought it necessary, but had to make sure he had heard right, that the doctor hadn't made a mistake.

He had a son.

Not that it mattered in the slightest. He would have been deliriously happy with a son, a daughter, or a baby gorilla. It would have been his and Sydney's baby gorilla and they would have loved it dearly. But a boy…

"Michael?"

Sydney's voice was so low that he shouldn't have been able to hear it. But he would have heard her a thousand miles away even if she hadn't spoken, would have felt her soft touch even if her fingers hadn't lifted to brush tenderly across his unshaven cheek.

His eyes snapped to hers, lured there by an unknown force too prevailing, haunting, dynamic to even consider resisting, quicker than iron shavings fly to the most powerful of magnets. A spark passed from one to the other and back again, melding green and brown through all the shades in between, one for each of the vast, countless emotions that were bubbling within their depths, locking sensations and flavors into each distinct hue; every gleaming speck murmuring millions of unheard words through each of their irises. 

Rippling between them with a vigor and passion too violent for the Richter Scale to measure, not felt by anyone or anything else, not even shaking the surface of the earth, let alone toppling houses and skyscrapers. A volcano shooting blazing embers and spewing liquid fire that was so alive and real and heated to them, but not another soul could…

"Syd…"

Her name was mumbled, sticking to his tongue and struggling to stay there. He had to fight to yank it out, rip it from the prickling burrs that held fast to each of its letters, and even then it issued forth as an unsteady croak, the sweetest sound to flood her ears since…

If he hadn't been inundated with emotion, hadn't been struck dumb by the mere sight of their son, of her, then he surely would have leaned forward and kissed her, would have known that there were no words that could articulate his feelings better than that. But coherent thought wasn't an option, not in a moment like this, not when he had just fallen in love all over again and his heart had somehow coiled itself around his mind, was sticking to his tongue, his throat, his lungs, and he could barely breathe because of the pressure. He foolishly searched for words to give her, not realizing that they didn't exist, that those that had been silently spoken had swamped all the rest from existence.

But Sydney understood both what he said and what he didn't, heard his heart serenade her while his voice faltered, her thumb caressing his cheek as two words meandered their way between the halves of her soft smile.

"I know…"

A quiet sigh. He wasn't sure whether it was his or hers, didn't know whose hand was tightening on the other, whose fingers were gripping with such force that it should have been bruising but was still so soft and tender. All he knew was that his heart was bursting, that she had triggered the explosion and he would willingly let her do it again and again, a thousand times over.

An entire exchange taking place in less time than it takes to sneeze, a hundred lifetimes of conversations zinging back and forth in too little time to be counted, with less than five spoken words, all the rest of them surging through the conduits that love alone provided.

Neither of them would have been the first to break eye contact, would have willingly destroyed the direct pathway that inextricably linked their souls. So it was fitting that they looked away at the exact same instant, eyes unable to keep off their little boy for a moment longer and immediately searching him out.

Everything was so jumbled and confused, both rushing and in slow motion so that at times he had no idea what was going on. Before Vaughn knew what was happening, he was letting go of Sydney's hand and the little boy was placed in her arms, not more than a few inches away, so close that he would hardly have to move to reach out and touch him. He couldn't resist the temptation, didn't have to, brushing a finger across the tiny forehead, down a cheek and arm, finding fingers that were so small they could just barely wrap around his own.

He watched his fiancée and their child, his mind running through every painting, every statue he had ever seen and not finding one that was more natural, more beautiful than the scene before him. If he had been asked ten months or even ten minutes ago to name the five happiest moments in his life, all of them would have revolved solely around Sydney, the center of his world. But now another life had wriggled its way into the picture, surprisingly not throwing everything off balance as he might have expected, instead adding a stability that hadn't been possible before, that he already couldn't imagine ever living without it.

"Vaughn?" Sydney asked softly, her voice the only thing that would have been able to shake him from his reverie, all that could flit its way through the amazement that still shimmered around them both. "Do you believe in love at first sight?"

"Yes."

It had taken him less than a second to come up with his answer. It hadn't always been the response he would have given… not until the moment a woman had walked into his office, red everywhere: a glaringly bright shade dying her hair, ringing her eyes, glistening painfully in the corners of her mouth. He had tried to convince himself that she was crazy, had succeeded to the point where he had believed it without a doubt. But only to keep him from seeing, acknowledging that even as insane as she had looked, she had been crazily beautiful, that the moment she had walked into the CIA building, he had essentially been spoiled for the rest of the female population.

Of course, he hadn't admitted this until later, had been too professional to even think of letting himself fall for her completely. He had tried to stay with Alice and continue his life as he had naively thought he should have lived it…

But whenever he had closed his eyes, and before long even when he had kept them open, all he could see, taste, feel, breathe… was _her_.

Any other man might have been angered or confused to learn that while he had loved his fiancée from the moment he had laid eyes on her, she didn't know what it was like, hadn't felt the same way. Surely this would have put a damper on thousands of other relationships, slaughtered the smiles of hundreds of other couples. 

But Vaughn understood. He knew what Sydney wasn't able to put into words, that in her own way, she had fallen for him the moment she had first seen him too. She might not have realized it then or even now, but Vaughn knew that grief and past love had brutally and painfully blinded her. She hadn't been allowed, hadn't let herself truly open her eyes until…

It had been love at first sight for both of them. With each other and with their little boy.

"Will you…?"

He silenced her with a slow, tender kiss, dipping his head down to drop an even gentler one on their son's forehead before acquiescing to her unfinished request, the sweet French lullaby streaming from his lips and truly reaching their baby's ears for the first time. The words were slow, whispered, would have been broken through with tears if he had tried to raise his voice. But still, they were perfect, would have been no matter what because the words themselves never mattered.

The nurses were kind enough to wait for him to finish before asking for the child. They took him from Sydney's arms, and Vaughn watched as they placed ID bracelets on both mother and child, one of the nurses wheeling the baby from the room with promises to return, the other staying to care for Sydney awhile longer before finally leaving the two of them alone.

Disbelief and wonderment still pulsating through the air, refusing to surrender to anything other than complete ecstasy. But even when such happiness arrived to take over entirely, he allowed them to share his throne, couldn't think of two people who deserved the reign of this triumvirate more than those before him.

Smiles a permanent fixture on their exhausted faces, Sydney and Vaughn were allowed a few moments of quiet caresses and gentle whispers before their tranquil solitude was infringed upon; but this intrusion was more than welcome.

A clearing throat and a light knock on the doorframe alerted them to Jack's presence. He stood uncomfortably in the doorway, one hand gripping a stuffed bear by the neck, the other gesturing behind him and down the hallway as he hastily offered an explanation. "The nurse said that…"

"Dad," Sydney interrupted with a tired smile and sigh of relief.

Jack rightly took that as his invitation to enter. He and Sydney had made a lot of headway in their relationship over the past few months, a slow but steady closeness blossoming between the two of them. But the sterile intimacy of this foreign environment, seemed to momentarily sap the strength of the bond they had worked so hard to create; it was an uncomfortable situation for all of them. Nodding in greeting, Vaughn stepped aside to give the older agent room to greet his daughter, grinning inwardly as the usually gruff man bent forward and kissed her forehead.

"Thanks for coming," Sydney murmured, and Vaughn hoped that Jack could hear the barely restrained emotion coursing through her words, knew how much his being there meant to his little girl. But he must have noticed, because there was no way anyone could _not_ see the utter bliss waltzing through those dark, captivating eyes.

"Everything went well?"

Those were three words that could have been spoken after a mission or business transaction, probably would have seemed too starched, too out of place in any other hospital delivery room. But here, with the three of them, they were perfect, couldn't be anything _but_ loving and concerned when they were said so gently, while a stuffed bear smiled up from Jack Bristow's left hand.

"Yeah…"

Sydney's breathy reply answered him, would have continued if Jack hadn't suddenly realized he was clutching the teddy bear so tightly, loosening his hold and trying to smooth the yellow ribbon that had been wrinkled almost impossibly by his near-death grip. That crinkled ribbon was the one small piece of evidence that his daughter's safety and the birth of his grandchild really _had_ slipped its way through his tough exterior, pinching him with at least some of the nervousness felt by every father.

"I brought this," he offered, giving up trying to flatten the ribbon and holding the bear out to his daughter. "Hospital gift shop. I chose the yellow one because I wasn't sure if…"

"Did they tell you?" Vaughn asked quickly.

Both he and Sydney had had the same idea, her sentence spilling out a split second after his began. "Dad, it's a boy."  
  


And those were somehow the magic words. Jack's imperturbable and guarded casing fizzled away like carbon bubbles losing themselves in open air. But instead of flattening him as this would have a soft drink, the loss made room for his heart to swell and beat with emotion and compassion in a way it hadn't for years, since long before even Sydney's steel-trap memory could recall.

Jack wrapped his daughter in a hug. It was quick and far from flooding with feeling, but it existed and that was all that mattered. Such a hasty, simple act spoke volumes, and coupled with the words that followed, proved to be much more than either Vaughn or Sydney would have ever dared to hope for.

"I'm so proud of you, Sydney."

By the way the statement was spoken, the way tears sprang to Sydney's eyes and her hand blindly stole past her father and reached for his own, Vaughn knew that those words meant the world to her, so much more than their collective meanings could ever convey in countless grammatical combinations. They weren't just for giving her father a grandson, although that _had_ been the catalyst, or even a late congratulatory effort for her work as an agent in the takedown of SD-6.

Encapsulating her strength and honor, her very essence and simple being, all that she was and none of those things that she never could or would be, they were for everything, both congratulations and an apology for all the times Jack had kept both from her before.

Suddenly shy, Sydney's voice had tiptoed away with her response, or perhaps it had been kidnapped, snatched on its way out of her throat. Whatever the reason, its absence didn't matter, her heart quickly compensating for reason's upset and calling on emotion to flare the gratitude from her eyes.

Vaughn's gaze flitted from Sydney to Jack, feeling almost as if he were intruding on this father/daughter moment even though Sydney had drawn him into her family long ago. He would have crept from the room and left the two of them alone, but he wouldn't have strayed from Sydney's side for anything.

A hand on his shoulder surprised him. A hand that couldn't have belonged to Sydney; he had memorized her touch long ago and this was too big, too heavy, the angle was all wrong. But Jack was the only other person in the room and…

"Vaughn, I know that…"

Jack's voice _was_ speaking, his lips moving to form the vowel sounds, in perfect sync with each word. And there were so many thousands of ways that sentence _could have_ been completed, all of them jumping up and down in a frenzy, waving their hands wildly in the air. But Vaughn, while he knew each and every member of that usually silent classroom, never knew who was called upon to answer, never got the chance to hear…

"Dude! You don't even _tell_ me that…"

This exclamation burst forth from the multitude of balloons that were trying to make their way through the door, their metallic faces proclaiming _Congratulations!_, _Happy Anniversary_, and _40! Over the Hill!_. Probably whatever had been quickest, easiest, and most importantly, cheapest.

After the initial surprise faded, allowing sound to reach Vaughn's ears, Weiss' voice was heard once again, grumbling curses this time as the sea of balloons vibrated angrily and parted, revealing his familiar face amidst a rainbow of snarled ribbons. He ducked underneath the mess, wiggling awkwardly to maneuver backwards through the doorway, and yanked the balloons in after him, grinning triumphantly at the three silently surprised and amused faces before him. 

His grin withered to a sigh when seconds went by without a response, his eyebrow raising. "My aunt had to die to get me out of work, FYI, so you better appreciate…"

"Clara?" Vaughn interrupted with a grin. A vigorous nod was his answer, both men's smiles widening further with whatever this shared information held for them.

"I'm so…" Sydney began, but Vaughn silenced her with a hand to her cheek and a tenderly placed thumb, the pad of it dancing along the seam of her lips, transforming her concerned frown into a smile.

"Don't be," he assured her with a laugh, letting his fingers linger against her face for a moment longer before dropping them slowly to the bed and turning toward his friend. "What's Clara's death count, now? 146?"

"Forty-seven," Weiss answered, ignoring Jack's snort of disapproval. "And that's only since I started counting in 9th grade." A quick glance around the room rewarded him with both Sydney's smile and the familiar Jack Bristow Death Glare. "So when does Uncle Eric get to meet his…"

"Michael…"

Vaughn froze at the sound of his name, eyes meeting Sydney's for a moment, not sure whether the shock he saw there was truly hers or a reflection of his own. Turning his head slowly, as if going too fast would have changed the pronunciation of those two spoken syllables, causing them to disappear. He would have recognized that voice anywhere, hadn't heard his name pronounced in exactly that way for…

A nurse was wheeling the baby back into the room, followed by the one person he absolutely positively _should_ have remembered to call but definitely hadn't. It had to have been a ghost, a mirage, his conscious kicking in and slamming him over the head with the fact that he had forgotten to…

"…I think this child is even more precious than you were the day you were born."

"Maman?"

Sydney's hand tightened on his just enough so that he could feel it. So many times they had planned to take the three-hour drive up the coast to visit his mother, had looked forward to the picnics and quiet walks on the beach. He had longed to see Sydney in the place where he had grown up, to show his mother exactly why he had refused every single one of her "family friend" blind dates since that October day almost two years ago. But life had been especially cruel in that respect, and every single time their plans had fallen through; one or the other would not be able to go, and those few visits that Vaughn had taken earlier in the past year had been alone.

He ran his thumb softly across Sydney's hand before twisting his wrist and interlacing her fingers with his own, wanted to lean forward and press his lips against hers, to tell her that here was no reason to worry, that his mother would love her as much as he did. But there were suddenly so many people in the room, and as the connection to all of them, it was his responsibility to…

"Maman, how did you…?" His voice trailed off without his permission, seemed to have a mind of its own since his own was still reeling.

"Mr. Bristow was kind enough to look up my number and call me, dear. He said that you surely would have done it yourself if you hadn't been so preoccupied." She turned to Jack and extended a hand. "Thank you for making sure I didn't miss the birth of my first grandchild."

"Not a problem," he answered, shaking her hand politely. "And please, call me Jack."

"Charlotte," she returned, kissing her son and pinching Eric's cheek in the same greeting she had given him since meeting him years ago. She turned toward Sydney then, smiling warmly, and Vaughn knew that it was the moment that every male dreads, that he had been looking forward to for over two years: time for him to introduce his mother to the first and last woman in his life.

And right as he parted his lips to say those words he had been waiting to let pass since the day he met Sydney, he caught sight of the nurse bending over his son, reaching to pick him up and hand the little boy to his mother.

"Don't."

The nurse stopped mid-action, her eyes shooting in his direction. Vaughn glanced at Sydney for confirmation, eyes shining brighter than a four-year-old child's as he silently begged for permission to let go of her hand, would never dream of performing the action for anything less and without her consent. She assented by carefully unlacing her fingers from his own, a smile playing on the corners of her lips as she drank in his innocent expression.

"I'll do it," Vaughn continued, breaking off from the group around Sydney's bed and murmuring his thanks to the nurse as he bent over his son.

The nurse stammered something about hunger and coming back soon. Vaughn nodded, agreeing to everything she had said without hearing a word. All sound hovered around him, muffled and unnaturally slow, only snippets of the surrounding conversation seeping into his ears, thrusting its way through the dense haze.

"And you must be Sydney…" 

The only sound that reached him with any comprehension and clarity, weaving its way through the maze of cottony fog and the rushing whoosh of his own pounding heart, was the sighing breath of the little boy sleeping before him. 

_"… even more gorgeous than Michael told…"_

He thought for half a second that his mother's comment had to be impossible; he _had_ to have told her that Sydney Bristow was the most beautiful woman on the face of any planet, that she was the most amazingly…

But just as quickly as it had flashed through his mind, the thought was gone; all sound again clouded from his ears. His eyes finding and focusing on the blue cap covering the tiny head, the soft cotton hiding most of the hair, only a few wispy patches sticking out from underneath.

_"… Yeah, Mike always gets all the good ones…"_

He ran his finger over one of them, the tiny strands of hair were much lighter now that they were dry, would one day change to a dirty blond that matched his own. He could see both Sydney and himself blended into the miniature features, stood for a moment puzzling over how they could have reached such perfection, when…

_"… tired?… Yeah, but it was…"_

… the boy's eyes fluttered open, a stormy sea of brown and green blinking before him, as if the irises had yet to decide which color to turn. Vaughn hoped that that they would stay that way forever, a beautiful hazel that only he and Sydney could have produced, that was capable of filling with the depths of emotion that their own eyes held, would speak for the child being truly theirs if there was ever any doubt.

Awakened by Vaughn's tender touch, the little boy calmly surveyed what was before him, whimpering slightly with the overwhelming sight of his new world, the bright lights and suddenly loud sounds, the loss of the comfortable darkness and warmth that had been his mother's womb.

"Hey buddy… It's okay." Vaughn wasn't sure where he had found it, but his voice was there, springing from his tongue to a whisper that no one but the child could hear, these first words a song solely for father and son.

Placing a hand behind the little head as he had been taught, amazed at how it nearly fit right into his palm. Bringing the other hand around and lifting slowly and carefully, afraid that the child would shatter if he moved so much as a millimeter in the wrong direction…

_"… better hope he doesn't grow up to…"_

… he positioned the little boy in the crook of his arm, addicted to the feeling of it already, how incredibly natural the warm weight felt against his body. He adored all six pounds and five ounces already, could have frozen in that…

_"… didn't you, Mi…"_

… instant while the world whirred around him and wouldn't have missed out on one second of life, had only felt that way with one other person before this moment. Her eyes were on him, penetrating to his heart and soul, and it was all that could tear his own eyes away from his son and draw them to it. Only her gaze. Only her.

And it was just the two of them again, forever and for merely a moment. The two of them and the child that their love had created; living, breathing proof that miracles _do_ happen and dreams _can_ come true.

Both of them lost, alone together. Nothing more than a gaze needed to lead them through winding, heated pathways that others could and would never find after eons of searching; echoes and bouncing beams of electric light were no help in caverns like this, stood no chance when something so much stronger locked the two of them within and steered everyone else away.

Their hearts singing a thousand silent songs in an instant, hitting notes and matching chords that others never would have thought of, but creating the perfect fusion of passionate music, so deafening and heart-poundingly loud that no other sound could hammer its way through until…

"Mike!"

Grating harshly on his ears after they had swallowed such sweet music, painfully snapping him from wherever he had been deep inside of her ages before he would have ever wished to leave. Vaughn knew that Sydney felt the jolt too as she looked quickly away, didn't know why they were embarrassed to be caught looking at each other when they were all but married, when he had vowed to be hers forever the moment that…

"Geez! I've been trying to get your attention for like five minutes!" Weiss continued, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently. "And you two are standing here having eye sex with _both_ your parents _and_ your baby in the room."

As usual with Weiss' comments, there was nothing to say to that except for the sheepish and blushing _Sorry_ that Sydney provided. This was readily brushed off as unnecessary by Charlotte, who had fallen in love with her future daughter-in-law the moment she had walked into the room and was so ecstatic that her son had finally made such a wonderful choice that she even forgot that she hadn't helped him with it.

"Your mother was wondering when she was going to get to hold her grandson, Jack was…" Weiss trailed off, realizing just in time that the rest of his statement probably would have been inappropriate. "And _I_ want to know what we're supposed to call the kid. You must've picked out a name by now."

They had.

Their perfect girl's name had been decided upon weeks before; he couldn't for the life of him remember it now, but probably would when… if they needed it later. Its male counterpart, however, had made an appearance just last night. They had puzzled over the issue for months, never seeming to find anything that would fit just right, a name that would mean something but wouldn't be too rigid or outlandish, that their child would be proud (or at least wouldn't mind having) to carry through life.

Sydney had thought it up, somehow plucking perfection out of thin air as only she could do. Vaughn hadn't liked it at first. He hadn't hated it either, but it had just sounded too much like something his grandmother would have chosen and insisted upon him using. And simply for that reason, he had been ready to reject it the moment it had been spoken, discarding it somewhere behind them along with all the hundreds of others.

She had whispered it to him over dinner and he had chewed it along with his spaghetti, had been lucky that his mouth had been full when she'd spoken as it had allowed her time to explain her reasoning. And the second she had, he had fallen in love, hadn't been able to think of anything that could ever be more right.

As Vaughn looked down at his son, stepped forward to pass him carefully over to his own mother, he knew that it truly was the only name that fit, that what Sydney had stumbled across had been perfect, that he shouldn't have expected anything less from her.

With a sweet, shy smile, she had murmured to him that she wanted both the men in her life to be her angels. And that would have been enough to sway him in favor of what she had chosen, but what she had whispered next had won him over completely

Dipping her gaze to the lone meatball resting in the middle of her plate, her fork nervously chopping it into bite-sized pieces that wouldn't be eaten, she had mumbled that she wanted a way to remember that little boy that had inched his way into their hearts and beings in a matter of days, that they had loved and lost…

Rising from the table and claiming her lips, he had declared their quest for the perfect name completed, would have bent forward now to kiss her again if there weren't so many people watching. Almost damned them all, but caught Weiss' eye just in time, knew that they were all still waiting to hear the little boy's name.

And if only everything could stay this perfect, if only they could have more than a month of peace and bliss before everything once again turned upside down. If only…

But none of that mattered just yet; happiness was still with them now, as Vaughn's eyes met Sydney's and the name left his lips, falling through a smile.

"Gabriel… Gabriel Elijah Vaughn."

~~~

In case there was any confusion with the names, both Gabriel and Michael are archangels, and Ilya is the Russian form of Elijah.   
  
Sorry for the lack of movement, but there should be enough in the next chapter to make up for it... Thanks for reading!


	5. Dissonant

Rhapsody

~~~

**caz**: Thanks! Weiss is a wonderful character; so much fun to write… Thanks for quoting your favorite line. Knowing what you guys like (or don't like) helps me when I write other chapters… I'm glad I was able to make your day with the last chapter; I don't know if you'll be saying the same for this one…

**lemily**: I thought about that, but since I named one of Syd and Vaughn's little boys William in the last story I wrote, and a lot of the people who read this story are the same who had read that one (on a different site, not this one) I decided to switch things up a bit. Thanks for reviewing!

**valley-girl2**: You broke the record again, without a doubt. You amaze me. That's really all I can say… I thoroughly enjoyed reading your "shield-less" review. You never fail put a smile on my face. I really wish I could say more, and I would respond to more of your comments, but this is already taking forever (although _you_ take an hour to make your reviews. I'm just… wow… speechless… and honored, really) since my roommate is trying to sleep and I'm "quiet typing." I'm sure you'd much rather have the chapter anyway. At least that's what you think now…

**lightning bug**: Thank you! (twice!) Jack's a fun character as well. Not as fun as Weiss, but still… I'm glad you liked it, and thanks again for taking the time to review both chapters.

And here's a warning: Killing the writer after reading this chapter _will_ leave the story unfinished. Just keep that in mind… 

~~~

Chapter 5: Dissonant

Vaughn stood with both hands on the crib railing just as he had last night and all those that had come before. He always needed both of them there for balance, to keep the scene from completely overwhelming him and toppling him to the ground, even though he had stood in the exact same spot too many moments to count, hundreds, maybe even thousands of times in the month since they had brought Gabriel home, since he had actually become a part of their lives.

The only light illuminating the sleeping child was a warm glow that issued forth from a nightlight, coiling with a few stray moonbeams that fell through the window, and the shadow-filled pool that flooded softly through the doorway, an echo of the kitchen light that radiated brightly further down the hall. But it was more than enough for him to see the outline, clearly make out every tiny feature on his son's sleeping face. Vaughn had spent that entire first day, week, month committing every patch of skin, every hair, every trait to memory, just as he had with the child's mother what now seemed so long ago. In these two people, he would have been able to detect the slightest bruise, the tiniest wound, scar or wrinkle of unhappiness or anguish even with his eyes closed, even when…

Before he could run his eyes once more over the beautifully intricate and somehow simplistic little body that he had helped create, a sudden, satisfying warmth filled his heart and pressed against him. Sydney's arms had snaked underneath his own, encircling his chest, her hands linking as she held him tightly. He hadn't heard her approach, but would have been able to pick her touch out from a million others, would recognize it anywhere.

Silence permeated the room, imbued with the susurrus ripple of words that had been spoken so often, the hum of vocal cords was no longer needed to send them trembling through the air, glancing off walls and souls and eardrums; the ghosts of sentiments that had been voiced so many times before...

_It's unbelievable, isn't it?_

_He's beautiful… perfect… amazing…_

_He's ours._

Leaning back against her, threading the fingers of one of her hands through one of his own, he turned this head just enough so that he could see her out of the corner of his eye, her ear so close to his lips that he barely had to whisper to be heard. "Do you need anymore help with the dishes?"

"No," she mumbled softly against his shoulder, smiling. He could almost feel her dimples pressing against his skin. They had lived together for over a year and somehow neither of them had gotten used to sharing such normal domestic moments; both hoped that they never would, that even the simplest of tasks would remain sacred and special, moments worshipped and lived for instead of taken for granted. "They're all…"

"Sorry…" he interrupted, as suddenly as the thought washed over him, glad that she wouldn't be able to see his flushing cheeks in the dark, not realizing that she could tell he was blushing simply by the way he had spoken, how his voice had become soft and shy, and he had shifted against her, seemingly unsure how to balance his weight.

Sydney hadn't had more than a few hours' sleep at a time since the baby had arrived. She had dealt well with it the first couple of weeks. His mother had stayed for a while after Gabriel had been born, helping however she could, and Sydney had been somewhat accustomed to spurts of short-houred, odd sleeping patterns, one of the mildly useful quirks leftover from her double life. But now the hours were starting to take their toll.

Vaughn knew he should have stayed in the kitchen and finished helping her, should have been able to hold out for a few minutes longer before dropping the damp dishrag and slipping from the room. He had been spoiled by the time off and short hours the CIA had allowed him, but since returning to work full-time a few days ago, his hours had been long and tedious, as if to make up for it; he had barely had a chance to see his little boy, was already going through withdrawal.

He hadn't been able to spend much time with Sydney either, apart from when he held her sleeping in his arms. He loved that she waited to eat dinner with him, no matter what insane hour he returned home. Although a part of him wished she wouldn't stay up so late, a sentiment he had voiced each time, silently praying that she would disagree; and she always had. Every time, he would insist on her going to bed as soon as they had finished eating, knew that it had been an effort for her to keep her eyes open and sustain a shadow of something resembling conversation.

Tonight he had been selfish; he would be the first to admit that. But he had wanted to spend as much time with her as possible, had needed desperately to see their son, knowing that soon he would have to spend a long stretch of time, thousands of miles away from them both, that in a few short hours he would have to leave, and…

"Don't," Sydney replied, halting his apology and sighing as she leaned her head against his shoulder. He would have gladly carried that weight with him for the rest of his life. "We were almost done anyway."

She tightened her grip around him and he stood watching their little boy, their angel, sleep peacefully for a few moments longer. Only the soft pressure of Sydney's head on his shoulder, her sighing breaths echoing softly in his ears and tickling over his neck kept his fingers back, kept him from reaching out to touch their son. Vaughn would have scooped the child into his arms in a heartbeat, but Sydney had told him over dinner what a long day it had been, how it had taken her nearly forever to soothe the little boy to sleep. The last thing she needed right now was to have Gabriel awaken and demand all her attention and energy before she even had the chance to snag at least a couple hours of sleep.

After only a few moments, Sydney's arms started to loosen their hold on him, her breathing becoming deep and steady. Vaughn would have gladly stayed that way forever, content to never move again for as long as he lived. With the woman he loved pressed tightly against him and their child asleep before them, the little boy that such a short time ago, had seemed nothing more than a fantasy...

There truly wasn't any place he'd rather be.

He knew there must have been others before this instant, but for the life of them he couldn't remember, had no idea what they were. He wondered if she knew that, hoped that that would have been among the things she _had_ gotten used to: how she could depend on him just as strongly as he did on her; how he wanted her, needed her, would never lose that vital desire as long as they both lived; how he loved her more than…

"Syd?" he murmured, gently lifting her hand to meet his waiting lips. He didn't really know what he wanted to say. Not for lack of ideas; there were so many thoughts streaking through his mind, fighting for dominance, screaming to be pitched from his lips and caught by her ears. She always left him wrestling for words, and nine times out of ten, he was forced to surrender to speechlessness.

"Hmm?"

She had drifted into that luscious cloud between consciousness and dreaming; not quite lost in slumber, but not fully awake, letting the cool, somnolent mist fog her vision and mind. His voice had lured her back from the precipice of sleep, tugging her just a shadow shy of wakefulness as she rubbed her face drowsily into his shirt, not wanting to open her eyes just yet.

There were so many ways he could have continued his statement, his question; enough to keep them both awake long into the night, and even then he still wouldn't have been able to express half of the feelings he felt for her. They multiplied exponentially with each passing second, every breath she took, each heartbeat and blink of an eye.

_Did you even think it was possible?… You're beautiful…  Do you want to try again someday?… I love you…  Can we just pretend it's already been six weeks and…?_

But every last one of them ruptured the second he heard her sighing answer, bursting and hissing and spilling their contents into the air. He didn't have the heart to question her or make her think in the slightest, to keep her awake for an instant longer than necessary.

Letting go of her hand, he turned in her arms and pulled her into his own, brushing his fingers through her hair and down her back. "Baby, you're exhausted."

"No, I'm not," she answered, her still-closed eyes and slow, soft tone clearly relaying the exact opposite of her words, picking at and twisting them until he thought for a moment that she _had_ actually agreed with him.

Placing a gentle kiss against her temple and taking an arm from around her, he kissed the tips of his fingers and dared to brush them lightly against his little boy's head, knowing there was no way he would be able to leave for a mission without being able to touch the child at least once. Letting his fingertips caress the fuzzy strands of hair for a heartbeat of time before reluctantly pulling them away, Vaughn murmured a goodnight, taking one look at the drowsy woman at his side before sweeping her off her feet and into his arms. She didn't complain as he carried her to the bedroom, instead burying her face in his neck and taking those few minutes to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse quivering underneath his skin in her own soft lullaby.

He sat her on the edge of the bed, as gently as if she had been made of delicate fragments of glass, pieces for which the glue had yet to dry completely and stick them back together. Removing her shoes and socks, he let his fingers burn against her bare skin as he lifted her shirt over her head.

"I can do it," she protested weakly. But her words were so soft that they could easily have been overpowered by not much more than a whisper, and Vaughn's low murmur was sufficient to at least momentarily silence her objections.

"I know."

He placed his lips at the hollow of her throat and continuing a sweet trail a few inches downward, as far as he dared to go knowing that they couldn't take things any further. They had been so careful, up until now, not to kiss too hard for too long, to let their caresses wander anywhere near the vicinity of the point of no return. Her body needed time to heal completely and he didn't want to hurt her, but somehow he needed this, as simple as it was, a few extra kisses and caresses, before he had to leave.

"I _want_ to do it," he continued after a moment, adding, "You made dinner," because he expected her to protest, was ready to offer her a hundred reasons as to why she, a grown woman, should let him perform the simple and seemingly ridiculous task of getting her ready for bed, tucking her in as if she were three years old. "Are you sure you're feeling up to visiting my mother this weekend? I can always call her and…"

But she surprised him. And perhaps he should have expected that, should have been used to the fact that just like their baby would never fail to awe him by performing the simplest of actions, she would continue to amaze him day after day.

It wasn't her answer to his spoken question; he had known that she would nod even before he had a chance to finish speaking, that she would want to take their trip to his mother's house just as they had planned, had been looking forward to it ever since Charlotte had taken the liberty of blocking the days off on their calendar before she had returned home.

But he hadn't expected Sydney to lean forward, to silence him with a soft kiss and a smile, before pulling back and surrendering to him completely. Letting him pull one of his t-shirts over her head and gently smooth her hair out from underneath, she didn't fight in the least as he undid the buttons of her jeans, pulling them off in a way that was nothing but tender, completely different from almost every time he had done it before. Somehow he had forgotten that it was just on the brink of sleep that she was at her most vulnerable, that she…

"Michael?"

His first name still didn't fall from her lips very often, but he didn't mind, didn't expect it, savored the thrilling sound those few times that it had tumbled from her tongue and tiptoed to his ears. His eyes captured hers the moment she spoke; she had his undivided attention, exclusive use of his entire palette of affections, and his thoughts lying in wait for hers to begin, every time.

"I wish you didn't have to go."

The words themselves were unnecessary. Her eyes had shouted them to him all through dinner and his had answered, both of them skirting around the topic of the mission, of his leaving her side for even a second and going so far away.

The fear itself was what frightened them. It was unfounded; they both knew that. He was going on a simple reconnaissance mission: he had done dozens in the past and would have time for plenty more in the future. It wasn't so much the mission itself, the particulars of it or even the risk it entailed; she hadn't asked for details, and so he hadn't offered any more than necessary.

There was just something about having a child that changed everything, that magnified every worry and danger to almost irrational proportions. And somehow, they had let anxiety overtake them, corkscrewing its way through their bodies and minds and hearts until there wasn't room for anything else, until they were both so sure that something was going to go wrong, that their fears didn't seem so ridiculous after all.

"Me too."

All he could do was whisper an answer and hug her tightly, not breaking contact as he slipped underneath the covers with her, capturing her fingers with his own and kissing the spot just below where he had placed her ring so many months ago. Sydney let go of his hands, but only so that she could turn to face him, needing to breathe in his heartbeat, to be so close in his arms that nothing in the world could ever go wrong…

~~~

The wind howled through the air, finding just the right paths to leave those trying to weave their way through its fingertips breathless, gasping desperately, fruitlessly, for air. Ruthlessly, it rushed across mouths and noses to prevent any intake of breath, stealing inside and sucking what oxygen was left from shocked and shuddering lungs.

Blinding and relentless, the precipitation fell from the sky and joined in this mad pursuit, ensuring that eyes and ears and fingertips would have choked and frozen nearly to the point of complete worthlessness. If anyone was going to make their way through the elements that night, they were going to have to prove their mettle first, were going to have to battle their way through the tempest and all its vile henchmen.

How many tens of hundreds of people had lost that battle, given up before even going outdoors, slamming them shut with a shake of the head and a shiver, staring dejectedly out the window as the scene cooled from metal-gray to midnight-black. Everyone but those who really would have mattered; two shadows, impossibly darker than the moonless air surrounding them, trudging relentlessly onward as if inhuman, mechanical, robotic; as if they possessed no souls, were going in search of those they could filch from others.

Fear and Pain followed in their wake, two still-tiny monsters yanked along as if by heavy chains, sliming a whispering trail in those two leaden and scuffled pairs of footprints. Tiny, emaciated, not yet fed on the blood and screams of victims, but still too heavy to be blown away by the wind, somehow dodging the precipitation pelting from the sky, without the willpower or the means to escape, these emotions were latched to the dark beasts, those shadows of men, and destined to wreak their havoc, to make the innocent pay a price larger than they had.

They stopped in front of a door, the shorter of the two men barreling into the larger one with the suddenness of it, Pain and Fear cracking their skulls against his stained boots, the ache and rage that this induced serving as temporary nutrition, strengthening them to ten times what they had been before.

Only a few quick seconds were needed to pick the lock. Perhaps if it had taken longer, all would have been prevented, the unknowing victims would have sighed in sleep until morning dawned, bringing with it lifetimes brimming with succeeding days and golden opportunities.

But the bolt and springs gave way, the wind trying as a last resort to purloin the door from those dirty fingers that held it, nearly winning and slamming it open in warning. It was caught just in time, fingers holding strong, not slipping or freezing off it, a nearly superhuman strength that in a matter of minutes would prove hopelessly fatal.

The door shut with a soft and final click, the wind moaning in defeat as water dripped off shoe soles and noses, weeping a whisper of droplets to the ground. One, two, three seconds without sound or movement, before beady eyes adjusted to this new darkness, and ears became attuned to the creak of wooden furniture at night and the constant electric hum of the refrigerator. Three seconds where the world paused and sighed, where anything had yet to happen and everything was still all right.

Footsteps thundered silently across kitchen tile, wanting so badly to screech in warning but not finding the strength, the floor creaking softly as it was trounced under hard, unforgiving soles. Skin-crawling, opaque blackness crawled from somewhere deep within, penetrating every nook and quiet corner, swallowing sounds that didn't even exist, surging through and charging the air with incipient danger.

If they hadn't known the layout exactly, hadn't somehow obtained photographs and blueprints, hadn't sat squinting for hours through binoculars or pretended to work for the telephone company so that they could come and fix the wires that they themselves had clipped… then they surely wouldn't have been able to make that seemingly interminable journey of only a few feet. The quest of a lifetime, bent on bringing an end to those at the cessation of its path, where death hung in the air as thick as fog in the hills, adding a red-gray-black tinge that was more a feeling than a color, that sighed like hot, hungry breath on the back of an unsuspecting neck late at night, right before…

Revenge became a sixth sense, swiftly and rabidly overpowering all the rest so that none of them were necessary any longer. Taking over and tainting mind and body, until it became the sole hunger and thirst, threatening to induce excruciating, smoldering dehydration and starvation, the likes of which had never been experienced by anything close to mortal, if its one fatal craving was not immediately slaked.

The quiet crunch of carpet was a deafening shock; the short, squat man nearly having his head clobbered off his shoulders for letting the bedroom door squeak as he opened it further, escaping that surly fate merely because the snap of a spinal column and the echo of a skull thumping across the floor would have surely woken those who they wished to remain asleep. A sneer stood in this action's place, the gruesomeness of it greeted with just as much trembling horror as the decapitation itself would have been.

With a few final, tripping steps, these human monsters stood at opposite sides of the bed, both pairs of feet planted firmly, harsh breaths coming and going with a panting quickness that should have been shriekingly audible, that should have woken the woman sleeping before them. Vengeance poisoning their minds in flavors of sweet and sour, black and red, sharp and dull; aching, burning, bleeding to be released, to retaliate for an act committed not so long ago. These two men had been drawn from all those willing, the unlucky, or lucky, as they saw it, ones to…

A flash of lighting that glimmered long after it should have disappeared, proving not to belong to Mother Nature's sparking electric fingers but from the gleam of the glowing numbers of a clock on the bedside table reflecting off cool, cruel metal.

Pulled from the hidden depths beneath a heavy jacket, unfortunately not slicing its owner on the way out, perhaps preventing what was becoming more imminent with each passing moment, the blade of the knife was suspended in the air, hanging precariously in the space and moment between life and death, quivering as the man's fingers trembled for reasons he didn't understand. The banshee-like wind moaned and howled in protestation, pleading for mercy to any and all who would listen, tapping precipitation like fingertips against rooftops and windows, clamoring a long, drawn out _Pleeease_…

Some in the city heard it; most did not. All who did, shivered in ignorance, disregarding the way that hair stood on end on the backs of necks and the lengths of arms; how their hearts started beating a little faster, a little harder; and the way dewy drops of perspiration bloomed on foreheads like crocuses that blossom at the first sign of horror rather than spring. Shuddering and pulling blankets tighter around them, snuggling closer to loved ones in an effort at some kind of warmth and comfort, there would only be a few who would remember this moment when they watched the news tomorrow, and the sick-to-their-stomach feeling would return with a vengeance.

A pause.

A handful of seconds thrown down from the heavens, a few extra heartbeats that otherwise might never have pounded into existence. Almost enough time to quell the shaking of his hand and either lower it to his side or send it plunging downward…

But a new sound came murmuring through the sinister darkness, the babbling, nonsensical speech of a child upon waking; shifting and screeching to a sudden ear-splitting, skin-prickling wail. Terror and panic and helplessness mingling so well in that sound that they almost rendered it inhuman, ethereal, unreal.

But it was real, more so than anything else. Waking the woman, her two dark eyes snapping open so quickly that the action should have been painful, drinking in surroundings that ought to have been left behind in nightmarish sleep: dark sneers, shadows, the gleam of callous metal flashing to motion…

The little demons of Fear and Pain flew from their positions behind the men's heels, salivating and panting, crawling one over the other in the frenzy to be the first to spring to her shoulders and claw its way through skin to mind, blood, and body. The woman's eyes screaming in terror before her lungs had the chance…

From carmine to cerise to coral and back, with all the millions of variations in between that change its hue just subtly enough to be called by another name, coloring apples and fire engines and lips and licking flames. So many shades of red, but not a single tint that can describe the exact shade and horror of liquid life as it drips from sharp, gleaming metal, that can embody the last shuddering gasp of breath as it leaves the body, and the eyes as they widen and flicker before freezing in death.

The cries continued, increasing in strength and volume, exacerbated by the sympathetic gales without, causing the knife handle to burn white-hot in the man's hand and slip from his fingers, landing with a soft thump on the body below. The crashing rush of blood pounding against eardrums, hearts hammering with such force that they should have exploded against ribcages, and in that moment the two men, the two murderers, were almost transformed into beings that could actually think, breathe, feel…

A sudden shout hurled them into stone-cold reality before emotion and regret could wholly take over, hardening hearts, grabbing the chains of Fear and Pain before they could nip at their owners' ankles. Joining in the wailing's chorus, but adding discordant notes instead of making any effort at harmonizing; it was a voice, another pair of footsteps beating their way across the kitchen tile…

The eyes of the two slaughterers' locked, meandering a path across the bed that quickly but carefully avoided the bloodstained section of the sheets. Picking up the knife that had slipped from his fingertips, the larger of the two men hurriedly hid it back within his jacket. His face twisting into a grin of pure maniacal malice, contorted with rage, shooting blame across the room as the footsteps slowly transformed into a visible shadow of a man in the hallway.

Perhaps the words really were spoken, but even more likely, they were not. The actual sound of them, the language, whether it had been English or Russian or Japanese, didn't matter in the least. The sentiment was felt, dripping from pores, eyes, a hissing tongue and an angry fist as it shattered the glass of a window, providing a hasty means of escape.

_"I told you we should have killed the boy first."_

~~~

Sighing and tapping his fingers against the steering wheel, Vaughn watched the red light refract through the rain that was streaming down his windshield, broken at short, regular intervals by the swish of the wipers, and blinking as the traffic light swayed in the wind. There was no one else at the intersection and he had nearly made up his mind to run the light, when the droplets switched suddenly from a glowing red to crystalline green.

Foot already on the gas pedal, he pressed down and continued onward at a much slower pace than he would have liked. But between the blinding rain and the wind that kept trying to propel his vehicle off the road, he was already taking enough chances simply driving, and didn't want to do anything to worsen the situation.

He had thought Weiss was going to kill him when he'd convinced the pilot to land in this weather. His friend's face had turned a putrid shade of green, his fingers alternately flexing and balling into fists, as he had appeared to be trying to decide whether he should try his luck in a fistfight, or simply go straight to strangulation.

But Vaughn hadn't cared; friend or not, he could have taken him. Maybe it was the storm or perhaps he was merely being overprotective, but he needed to get back to Sydney and Gabriel as soon as possible. Circling in the air while waiting for the rain to subside was just not an option; it would certainly have killed him a thousand times over, in too many diverse and creatively excruciating ways for even the most imaginative person to visualize.

Even then, the storm hadn't been this bad, and they had been able to land more or less safely. What little blood had been drawn had come from Eric's fingernails digging into the flesh on his arm rather than anything life-threatening. Vaughn had promised not to tell anyone at the office that Eric had cried out for his mother during an especially jarring moment of turbulence, and in return, Weiss had decided to revoke his pledge to render his friend sterile the moment they had landed. With few words spoken and a more embarrassed than friendly shaking of hands, the two men had parted in the airport parking lot and gone their separate ways.  

But that had been almost an hour ago, and it was nearly four in the morning by the time Vaughn pulled into his usual parking space outside of the apartment. The few steps it took to get from his car to the door left him soaked to the skin, his jacket little help in such a relentless deluge.

Although he desperately longed to see her smiling face, he hoped that Sydney hadn't tried to wait up for him, that both she and little Gabriel were sleeping peacefully despite the storm, and he would be able to whisper a song to their little boy before snuggling up behind her in bed, his arm tight around her as he drifted off and found her in his dreams.

These thoughts filled him with a sudden uncontrollable need to see his fiancée and son again, a desire twisted like a spring, wound so tightly that any second it would snap out of control, nearly to the point that it would physically make his eyes burn and his skin bleed if he had to wait any longer to see and touch the two people he loved more than anything, to breathe in their unique and beautiful scents, to hear their soft sleeping sighs…

This desperate yearning tugged vehemently at his heart, speeding up its rhythmic beating, making his hands tremble so violently that it cost him valuable seconds opening the door, time that stretched into forever and nothingness, that he would never be able to regain.

Even with the screeching of the wind and rain filling his ears, the second the door cracked open, he heard it, sensed immediately that something was wrong. His blood froze in his veins, nearly congealing him into a helpless, icy heap on his own doorstep as one by one the systems of his body forgot how to function, as he had to remember to breathe, to blink, to move in the slightest.

If someone had told him a few years, months, or weeks ago, that it was possible to distinguish the cry of one baby from another, he would have laughed. He would have declared it impossible to even differentiate between the tears of two separate children, much less the wailings of a single infant. It was something that he hadn't been able to understand until he had a child of his own; until he could pick up the tearful little boy and know exactly what was wrong, had to convince Sydney to stay in bed at three AM because Gabriel just needed to be changed and he could handle that as well as she could. His son's tears were the voice that the little boy had not yet developed, that only his mother and father could understand.

And though the wail echoing down the hall, through the doorway and piercing straight to his heart and eardrums was not one that Vaughn could ever remember hearing, he somehow recognized it right away. It was the escalated, pleading scream of a child who had been waiting for a while for someone to hear him, was begging for anyone to wrap their arms around him in comfort, let him know that he wasn't alone.

Vaughn almost didn't want to open his mouth or step forward, wasn't sure what he'd do if he didn't get an answer, if she wasn't there, if she… He didn't know if he even had the strength to call out, to force his voice into something stronger than a whisper, thought for sure that any words would have been caught on their way out, wouldn't have been able to squeeze through the ever-constricting space past his heart as it jumped up and beat wildly in his throat.

The last words he had said to her before his cell phone had died in a fit of crackling static echoed mockingly through his head, hitting nerve endings and warping to even crueler, more desperate pitches and tones: _Syd, I'll see you… Syd, I'll see you… Syd, I'll see you…_ Those thoughts and feelings and promises he would have issued last never got to spring from his throat. He never even had the chance to tell her that he loved her. He would kill for that now. If he could just hold her in his arms and…

He wasn't even aware that he had spoken until he heard his own voice mingling with the tears of both his son and the wind, echoing off the suddenly hollow walls. It had issued forth as automatically as his suitcase had slipped from his hand, his keys had somehow found the edge of the counter, and his dripping jacket had landed in a puddle on the floor.

His footsteps hammering in time with each cold gasp of air, measuring the breaths that he otherwise wouldn't have remembered to take. _Left foot in, right foot out, left foot in, right foot out…_

"Syd?"


	6. Apparition

Rhapsody

~~~

**Erin**: Thanks for taking the time to review. :) It's nice to know that people actually like this.

**Halcyona**: Haha… Don't worry... And thanks for reviewing.

**anonymous**: This is one of the times when I wish that ff.net had emoticons, because I could sure use the blushing one right about now… Thank you so much!

**valley-girl2**: You crack me up. I love it… My roommate would probably remain sleeping if a Mac truck drove through the room, but I'd still feel bad if by some miracle I did something to wake her up, so… Papers are _definitely_ meant to be done at the last minute. I spent hours trying to finish one over the weekend, got back to school, and found it had been cancelled. I've learned my lesson: Procrastination is key… As always, your reviews (seriously…) leave me speechless. Thanks for putting so much time and effort into them.

**jerseyhartnett**: Hello again! I can't believe you re-read all five chapters and then reviewed here as well. That's dedication. :) Thank you so much. 

Sorry that this took so long. But you know how it gets at the end of the semester… Hopefully I'll be able to at least partially redeem myself with this chapter. But I guess I have to leave that up to you. There's no cliffhanger this time, or at least not an _evil_ one…

~~~

Chapter 6: Apparition

_Syd… Syd… Syd…_

His own words were his answer, resonating back to him, the sound waves ricocheting off walls and chairs and every other object in the room, before hammering hollowly against his ears, curling and shriveling to become a sound that was weak and useless, hardly could have been his own voice, only a wraith filling its usually strong existence. He was powerless, immobile, surrounded by space, inanimate walls, and a choking, constricting feeling that was a thousand times worse than the emptiness of being completely alone.

He tried again, but his voice froze, crackling uselessly in his throat, issuing forth in an insane cross between a croak and a sigh, an amalgamation that the howling wind and crying of his little boy quickly overpowered. His throat had closed completely, clamping down on her name as he tried to shout it once more, desperate to hear her, to catch a strain of anything that could even remotely resemble a response.

Silence, strong, harsh and heavy, seemed to become all the more powerful with the near-deafening effects of the screaming wind an child. A silence that became a sound in itself, so thick and charged that Vaughn could feel his skin tingling with its static power, its strangling grip encircling his neck. He wished, he hoped, he prayed…

But there was no reply.

Rubbing a hand over his face and through his wet hair, mixing rainwater with sweat and the tears that he wouldn't let fall completely, Vaughn continued down the hallway, fingertips of his other hand running along the wall to steady his course. He could only see in shapes and shadows, but turning on the light never even occurred to him. He didn't need to see; he would have been able to get to Sydney, to their son, no matter where either of them had been, could follow the quickening beat of his heard, a better gauge than any that would ever be invented.

Gabriel's shrieking tears wrapped themselves around him, compelling Vaughn onward as his feet faltered, steadily increasing in volume and urgency with every step, every breath that wheezed its way in and out of his throat. Perhaps the heart-ripping, flesh-crawling anxiety coursing through his veins and over every inch of his body had sprung solely from these cries, watered by each of the little boy's tears, growing into a hideous, snakelike vine that wound its way around his neck, joining with the fingers of silence and fatally tightening with every passing second, until…

His fingers bumped against the doorframe, fumbled through the air, the empty space that the open doorway provided, leading into his son's room. The nearly-choking cries vibrated through the otherwise deathly still air, creeping against his flesh, puckering it into goose bumps wherever they touched, mingling with the tingle of worry and the chill of a damp shirt against heated skin.

Vaughn reached the side of the crib automatically, not hesitating for a second before reaching down and picking up his screaming little boy. He didn't need light to see that his son's eyes were wide with fear, that his cheeks were flaming red and slick with tears. Grabbing a blanket with the child's trembling body, Vaughn wrapped it around his little boy as he held him tightly in his arms, rocking him back and forth as he had done so many nights before.

Rambling and tripping over themselves, tumbling head over heels as they stumbled from his mouth, a jumble of words murmured forth in a combination of English, French, and a language that no living being would be able to understand if concentrating too deeply, the _true_ language of love. Part lullaby, part whisper, part nothing at all, but a blend of the three that meant more than any of them could unaided, more than anything and everything straight across the starry expanse of the night sky.

Only Vaughn's familiar voice coupled with the rhythmic rocking and the tender pressure of his lips against the child's head could reduce the little boy's sobs to shudders and then sighs, as he squirmed and snuggled in a desperate attempt to get as close to his father as possible, just as his mother had so many times before. Gabriel's tiny mind and heart still could not comprehend what was going on, why he had had to wait so long for someone to hold him, to love him, but he was able to forgive and forget, content to live in the moment, know that he was being hugged now.

"Shh, Gabriel… _c'est bon, mon ange_… My little boy… Daddy's here… _Je t'aime_. It's okay…"

Somehow the words found Vaughn and left his lips, battering their way past his seemingly swollen throat and singing to the little boy's ears as he made his way across the room and back out into the hallway, continuing toward his own bedroom door.

His whispers to the child persisted, became the mantra that urged each step closer to his door. His whispering voice, the baby's slowly calming breaths and his own heartbeat, the only sounds he could hear as he drew closer and closer to where he hoped he would find Sydney safe and sound. His son had lessened the aching in his heart, but the pain wouldn't dissipate completely until he held the child's mother, the love of his life, in his arms.

"_Où est Maman_, Gabriel?… _Mon ange_…"

A few more words falling like the raindrops outside, drumming against the child's ears and spilling across the floor. _Where's Mommy, angel? Please… _Vaughn wasn't looking for an answer, wasn't in control of what he was saying, didn't even know that the question had left his mouth. It had been randomly selected from the millions of others darting through his mind, and thrown into the stream of phrases pouring from his lips. 

"…_mon petit garçon_…"

His mind was whirring, spinning crazily out of control, more confused than anything else, couldn't even begin to contemplate the thousands of oddities the setting presented and have kept his vital bodily functions going, have picked his feet up and put them down further along on the floor. Sydney had always been the first to hear their little boy, no matter how tired she was. There had been times when he hadn't awakened until he had felt her stir in his arms, despite the fact that the baby monitor was just as close to his head as it was to hers.

"… Shh… I've got you now. I've…"

His voice trailed off, surrendered to silence without the help of a waving white flag. The child was quiet now, nestling against his body, not caring that Vaughn's shirt was wet and his heart was beating frantically against his own little ear. Luckily, Vaughn's arm had been outstretched before him, his fingers brushing against his closed bedroom door before he had slammed both himself and Gabriel into it. Fumbling for the handle, he found it and swung the door open, the sudden chill and rushing howl of wind catching him off guard, sending him a few steps backwards and into the hallway.

It took a moment, a second that seemed to stretch into a lifetime, for his eyes to adjust to the livid darkness and stinging rush of air, to distinguish the curtains that billowed in the wind from the phantasms his mind tried to show him. Gabriel whimpered and anxiously nuzzled closer into his arms, his tiny body quivering with the sudden chill, the thin blanket proving a weak shield against such ruthless elements.

Without trying to see if Sydney was in fact in the bed, knowing that if he didn't shut the window first, he wouldn't get around to it, would either be at her side in a second or frozen with fear and worry. Sheltering the infant in his arms from the biting wind and the rain that it forced inside, Vaughn closed the window, leaving the storm to pound futilely and angrily against the glass.

A turn. A sharp intake of breath that pierced nearly through his heart. A blink of the eyes as they automatically squinted, struggling to get a picture that would make even a modicum of sense to his brain, not realizing that it wasn't their fault, that his mind was having enough trouble as it was, could barely discern forward from back, left from right, blood from air. His feet pounded one in front of the other, mechanically drawing him closer to the bed, his joints trying to rust and hold him in place, knowing he was caught in that at once almost deliciously terrifying and blood-drainingly horrible ambiguity of simultaneously wanting and _not_ wanting to know if…

Finally, finally, finally, he was close enough; he could see with his eyes as well as his heart. Muscles weakening, knees threatening to give out and arms to drop the precious bundle that they held, as he ran a hand through his hair and rested on the back of his neck. Air burst forth from his lungs, hissing and relieving their fire, letting out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.

There, curled up nearly in the fetal position, arms pulled close to her body, hands balled into fists and grasping at the ends of the sleeves of his favorite hockey sweatshirt, was Sydney, asleep on the bed. Chest rising and falling, a stray lock of hair that had fallen across her face dancing with every breath she took, she was utterly exhausted, had been forced into a sleep so deep that not even the bedroom door that had undoubtedly slammed shut in the wind had wakened her.

Vaughn was at her side without another thought, had her in his arms and pulled against his chest before either of them had the chance to breathe again, his free hand tangling through her hair while his body twisted and his other arm maneuvered Gabriel safely out of the way of their embrace.

He felt Sydney's head jerk against him and her eyes flutter open as she startled awake. For a pinch of a second she struggled to get out of his arms, relinquishing quickly and throwing her own around his neck. It had taken her only a moment to recognize his touch, his scent, his very presence, only half an instant for her to realize that her guardian angel had come home and was holding her safely in his arms. 

"Vaughn…"

That one word was mumbled, strangled and breaking, its departure from her lips nearly prevented by her own emotion and blocked by his neck as she nuzzled into him. Her hot breath washing over him and the skin of her fingertips against his own were just a few of the sensations that twenty-four hours had been too long to go without. Her one choking whisper was sweeter music to his ears than the entire collection of Beethoven's symphonies; anything she ever said always was, but somehow _this_, at this moment…

"Syd…"

"… I missed you…"

"… _mon dieu_, Syd…"

"… so much…"

"…_tu m'as manque_…"

Their words and sentiments stumbling one over the other, his French and her English coming out at the same time, repeating and mixing into something that hardly made sense, that neither of them really heard or needed to hear to understand. She felt his words in the wild beating of his heart just as he sensed the meaning of hers in the way she clung to him, as desperately as if he were her last tether to sanity, to reality, to life; as if being close to him were all that had ever mattered.

The mélange of voices finally bowed down to a sighing silence, the two of them claiming a few moments to do nothing more than breathe in the other's scent, breath, essence; fingertips whispering over skin and through hair as the rain pounded against the window, lacing a steady murmur into the background that was perfect now that they were together, were one.

It was only at that instant, when he had her safe in his arms, that Vaughn realized how ridiculous his fears had been, how far he had let them spiral out of hand. He was a CIA agent, could perform a million absurd duties under amazing amounts of pressure, but somehow when it came to Sydney, now that everything was so different, so much better than it had been before…

The color rose in his face, hastening to settle in his cheeks and at the tips of his ears. Sydney felt the rush of blood as it passed through the skin of his neck, brought her face up just inches from his own and regarded him questioningly, so close that she cast a darker shadow over them, momentarily clouding his vision as his eyes scrambled to readjust. But he didn't need to see her eyes to know the concern that played there, had received and thus memorized this exact look a million times before, could _feel_ it as her apprehension washed over him in waves.

He kissed her softly, tenderly, the few seconds that he let his lips linger on hers meaning so much to the both of them, conveying more than any spoken words would ever be able to, was the final hit that completely fought any remaining fears away, shooing them from deep within the cryptic caverns of hearts and minds.

"Don't," Sydney whispered, when he had pulled back enough to let that word squeeze between them, effectively putting an end to his explanation, his apology, before it even had a chance to leave his lips. He should have known.

A shy smile cracked through the foundation of her serious visage, the most beautiful structural flaw Vaughn had ever seen. It was at that instant that he knew she had felt the same way, crazy with worry for _his_ safety while thoughts of hers had run rampant through his own head, playing over and over like the most gruesome of horror movies, without the luxury of the stop button. They both knew this crawling fear was absurd and unfounded, but as uncontrollable as the rising and setting of the sun; something that stole over them during lonely nights, when the other wasn't there to be pulled closer, to calm the butterflies that flew wildly through their stomachs.

He couldn't resist pulling her closer again, reveling in the way she fell so naturally against him, how her head fit right in the crook of his neck as if they were two long-lost puzzle pieces that had finally been pulled from the couch cushions, brushed free of dust and crumbs, and snapped back together.

"I couldn't fall asleep without you," Sydney mumbled into his neck, knowing how silly that would have sounded to anyone else, but that he understood. She didn't need to tell him how she had sat awake for hours, finally giving in, getting up and grabbing his sweatshirt and opening the window, letting the soft cotton comfort her when he could not and the then gentle patter of rain serve as her lullaby. Only then, when she had curled up on the bed, had exhaustion stolen over her, drooping eyelids over red eyes, and launching her into a fitful, restless sleep. "And I had the worst dream. I was home alone with Gabe, and… Gabriel!"

She rocketed upward, nearly smashing the top of her head into his chin with the sheer force of her motion. Before Vaughn had a chance to comprehend what was going on, to open his mouth to say anything, Sydney was struggling to release herself from his hold, a string of half phrases springing from her tongue and bombarding his ears.

"Oh God… It has to be… He must have…"

"Shh, Syd," Vaughn murmured, comforting her just as he had their son earlier.

Overcome with the fatigue his screams had caused, the little boy had succumbed to sleep in the safety of his father's arm; Vaughn shifted, lifting the child forward so that she could see him. Gabriel woke with the movement, whimpering softly in question, suddenly afraid and wondering what was going on. Sydney had been so distracted, so overwhelmed, and still so exhausted, that she hadn't even noticed he was there.

"He's right here."

The glowing numbers on the alarm clock threw just enough light for Vaughn to see the gleam of Sydney's eyes as they jumped from the child to the baby monitor beside the bed, noticing at once that the telltale red light was not on. He couldn't see the furrows lining her forehead, but knew they were there, felt the whoosh of her hand rising to press against them as she shook her head.

"I'm such an awful mother…"

Vaughn chuckled softly, handing the little boy to his mother and leaning forward to lay a gentle kiss against her temple. He could feel the tension there, starting in the slight wrinkles on her forehead and radiating outward, the most trivial of changes in pressure and blood flow, enough to let him know that she wasn't joking.

"No, you're not," he added, because words were necessary at this moment, because he had seen her with their baby so many times before, had stared in wonder at how natural it looked, at how wonderful she was. Because he saw her now, how the child fit seamlessly into her arms, snuggled against her and seemed to sigh with relief and satisfaction before nosing his way into her chest, his tiny mouth sucking at the air.

Without a word, Vaughn took the little boy from her, propping a pillow against the headboard of the bed as she took off his sweatshirt, readying herself to feed Gabriel. They had performed this routine so many times before that the actions became second nature, that they could do it as perfectly under the cover of darkness as they could in penetrating daylight.

"Thank you, Michael…"

Her murmured words were so soft that they were almost nothing more than a whisper of wind in the rain, hardly stood a chance amongst the furious crashing of the tempest raging outside the comfort of their home. But as hushed as her words were, they still tripped their way to this ears, knew the path by heart and would have fought tooth and nail to reach their destination, to be heard over the loudest of roars.

She whispered them to Vaughn as he handed Gabriel back to her, the little boy eagerly partaking in his meal, the soft sounds of his sucking and swallowing mingling with Sydney's soft voice and the rain. There was something about the way she had said those three words, something more than the fact that she had used his first name, that offered up her gratitude for more than any of the actions he had performed in the past few minutes. Something that…

"For coming home."

A smile crept across his lips, tickling the corners upward and ending in a brilliant flash of teeth, the baring of his soul to hers. His first thought was trite and stupid, so much so that he almost didn't say it, embarrassment flickering through his smile, tugging it within the boundaries of shyness. But he could never keep anything from her, no matter how seemingly insignificant or silly, whatever it might be. She wouldn't laugh. She would understand.

"_You_ are my home. Both of you."

Sydney didn't disappoint him; didn't laugh, just as he had foreseen. Her eyes never left his for a moment, linking and locking one to the other, wallowing in his depths without even trying to find her way out. A slight sparkle glinted in the corners of her own dark orbs, a trace of tears as she tried to swallow the emotion that billowed in her throat, compounding itself into a greater and greater lump with each passing second, every beat of her heart.

Carefully, tenderly, Vaughn leaned forward, brushing his lips against her forehead, her cheek, and ending his short but satisfying journey on her mouth, lingering there longer than he had anywhere else, softly letting her know just how much he had missed her, how glad he was to have her back in his arms.

Sydney brought her free hand up to the back of his neck, using it to tug him back to her as he pulled away, placing one last, quick kiss against his lips to ensure herself that she was awake, that this wasn't a fantasy, a dream. Only then was she satisfied, was she able to let any other feeling that wasn't solely _him_ permeate her senses. It was then that her hand perceived the cool dampness of his shirt, and she shivered with this new sensation, surprised that she hadn't felt it before.

"Vaughn honey, you're soaked."

Her voice was filled with such concern that he couldn't help but smile, pulling away without a word, removing his wet shirt on the way to the dresser and finding a clean t-shirt in one of the drawers. Changing quickly, he returned to the bed, sitting beside her and putting an arm around her shoulder, the fingers on his other hand playing with their son's.

Within a few minutes, Sydney's head had dropped onto his shoulder and Gabriel's eyes had fluttered closed, his sucking motions slowing, becoming almost too much of an effort. Vaughn was able to pull a blanket up around the three of them before his head fell softly on top of Sydney's and he let the delicious haze of sleep overtake him.

The time that the three of them spent there, wrapped around and in one another, weaving in and out of each other's dreams, was truly a slice of paradise. A sweet taste of heaven that unfortunately soured too soon, the shrill ringing of the phone startling them out of their dreams and curdling any of the satisfaction that such a sleep would have brought them later in the morning...

~~~

"So…"

It had to have been at least the twentieth time that Weiss had attempted to begin conversation with that exact same word. With each of those last eighteen times, when they had been on the plane at least, he had trailed off uncomfortably and stared out the window, twiddled his thumbs, or pretended to be extremely interested in the only half-read report that sat in front of the both of them.

Once, he had asked what Vaughn was reading, but all he had gotten in response was an unintelligible grunt, presumably the title, and a lifting of the book so that he could read the cover himself. Vaughn had been on page 247 ever since he had picked up the book two hours ago and let it fall open in his lap; both men were aware of this, Weiss had practically memorized the page and was itching for him to turn it, but neither had commented.

The first time had been the farthest they had gotten, and something resembling a conversation had ensued, if it could even be given that indistinct label.

_"So…"_

_"Yeah?"_

_"Can you believe that they kill…?"_

_"I really don't want to talk about it right now."_

_"Yeah, but she was only an old…"_

Weiss had trailed off then, not daring to go any further. Vaughn, or his eyes rather, had gotten the last word, his glare making any speech unnecessary. If Weiss had wondered how they were going to complete their assignment without speaking about it, he had been smart enough not to ask. Or perhaps, in this rare case, his _lack_ of speech was what could have been looked on as stupidity.

They had sat the entire flight in a bordering-on-uncomfortable quiet, the only words spoken were those that hadn't mattered in the least: something about the weather, Weiss' eating habits, and, surprisingly, the economy of Russia. This near-silence had remained unbroken as they had disembarked and gotten into the waiting van.

Vaughn's eyes were now glued on the tiny piece of windshield he could see from his seat in the back, watching the white landscape bump along, eerily calm after the brutal beating wind, snow and ice had inflicted just hours ago, almost cheerfully picturesque.

Almost.

Another mission... He hadn't even been allowed more than a few hours with Sydney and Gabriel wrapped snugly in his arms before the phone had rung shrilly, at the cruel hour of 8 o'clock in the morning. He had answered quickly, before the sound could startle Gabriel to screaming, grumbling a less than pleased hello. Sydney had been close enough to hear every word spoken on the other end, her eyes widening just as his did, her sharp gasp echoing along with his own less apparent intake of air.

It had taken a few moments for hardly a handful of quiet words to replace the beating silence that had hung thickly in the air, following the echoing click of the phone being placed back on its receiver. Neither of them could believe it, neither had dared to move until…

_"Vaughn?"_

The moment, her tone childish tone as she whispered to him, this hurried conversation, repeated in his mind throughout the entire plane ride, stretching through the long hours. She had only said his name in that way a few times in the past and still it chilled him, even when, at that moment, she had been further from danger than she had any time before.

_"Sydney…"_

Her full name. As if he had been whispering a prayer to her panting breaths over the com-link, as if he hadn't held both her and their son in his arms at that moment, as if she had been a million miles away. Because the moment had called for it, they had both still been too stunned and confused for anything else.

_"Did they really say…?"_

She had twisted her face up to intercept his gaze and let her eyes take over, piercing his irises to finish her question and receiving a soft nod in reply. Fingers entwining as both of their unlinked hands had whispered caresses over their son's soft skin in silent agreement and heartfelt tenderness. And they had pretended, for just a moment, that time had been nonexistent, a thing of the past, never again to be remembered.

He had had to leave immediately, wouldn't have had enough time to shower and pack if Sydney hadn't been ready with his clothes, both those he was to wear and the few he had to bring with him. He had departed, not twenty minutes after receiving the call, with two kisses, one placed gently on his son's forehead, and the second longer, more lingering one playing against Sydney's lips.

Neither of them had said anything about how they didn't want him to leave, how they had wished more than anything that he didn't have to, that it was absurd for him to have to go on another mission so soon. Because _this_, this assignment, this mission, whatever the CIA had chosen to call it… this was different…

"So, yeah…"

Weiss was apparently trying to spice things up, add some new flavor to an old favorite. The addition of that second word seemed to give him more strength, firmer resolution. He didn't look away this time, his eyes glued on Vaughn's, expectant, almost accusing. Both of them knew what he was talking about, the one thing they had been avoiding. But now the van had come to a stop, and they were going to have to confront the issue in a matter of seconds.

"What?"

It was more a sigh than anything else, and Vaughn's hand reaching up to rub his eyes spoke deeper than the word itself. Tired from lack of sleep and too much thinking; frustrated, overwrought, and still more than a little confused, Vaughn opened the backdoor of the van and stepped out, remembering to pull his jacket on only because the wind started to bite at his flesh and he could see his breath crystallizing in the air. To say that the phone call, this mission, had been unexpected was quite the understatement.

Scrambling out of the back of the van, more excited than anything now that he was going to have someone to talk to, that they weren't going to have to play the silent game anymore, Weiss almost tripped over himself and would have surely ended up facedown in the snow. But he caught his balance at the last second and, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as the two of them stood gazing at the building before them, he let a jumble of words pant their way past his lips.

"I bet you never thought this would happen, huh?"

In his excitement to speak, he had completely forgotten everything he had wanted to say and settled for an Understatement of the Year contender. He had been preparing it all through the plane ride, and had certainly had more than enough time to perfect his little monologue. It had been on target to be his best speech to date, even beating those he had given concerning the fine line of protocol, and his tips on how to secure a place among the ladies. But all of that seemed to have frozen in the frigid air, his mind numb already, reeling with the sudden intrusion of actual thought.

He didn't wait for Vaughn to answer him, knowing that more than likely his friend wouldn't and a raised eyebrow or a roll of the eyes would stand in the place of any real response. Luckily, something caught Weiss' attention, allowing for a much needed sidestep in conversation. "What are we doing at the police station?"

It should have been a simple question, would have been if he had paid any attention to the details of his quick phone briefing. Racking his brain for anything that could serve as an answer, Vaughn started forward, buying some time before coming up with a response that would make any sense, remembering one of the paragraphs of the briefing he had actually glanced at on the plane. "We don't want to cause any problems. We're letting law enforcement have jurisdiction on this one. They're going to take us to the scene and show us around the house."

"Oh yeah…" Weiss mumbled, trailing off and wishing that he had actually finished the report instead of spending all that time on the plane planning a now forgotten speech and staring out the window. He had let Michael Vaughn show him up once again.

They entered the building, showing their badges to the officer at the door and nodding in thanks as he rose from his seat and led them down the hallway. Weiss' eyes flitted around their surroundings, running over the stark uniforms and nearly sterile orderliness of the place, jumping around crazily as he tried to take everything in. All Vaughn could see was the brightly waxed floor and the heels of the officer marching in front of him, eyes glued to the floor as he mentally prepared himself for the inevitable, for what he knew was to come. He had to maintain a certain level of decorum, remain professional, couldn't let emotion get in the way and…

"Hey Mike," Weiss whispered, seemingly afraid to raise his voice since the place was so quiet, pulling on Vaughn's sleeve and shaking him from deep within the confines of his mind. "Do you think he'll recognize you?"

  
Vaughn didn't get a chance to answer. In two steps worth of time, they had stopped in front of an open doorway, the officer's knock interrupting a quick and loud conversation that Vaughn didn't hear, but wouldn't have been able to understand even if he had; a stampede of harsh-sounding Russian and angry tones that fell on deaf ears before breaking off into silence.

There he was.

A living, breathing ghost of months past, a part of life that he and Sydney had reluctantly had to leave behind, that under the circumstances was almost painful to have to see again.

A little older, a little bigger, but Vaughn would have known him anywhere. It was strange to be able to say. After all, the amount of time he had seen him was miniscule in comparison to other things, only a blip on the calendar of a lifetime. But that sweet little face, those dark, sad eyes…

The answer to Weiss' question was unnecessary the second they appeared in the doorway. Suddenly ringing through Vaughn's ears, the phantom of a sound he had once never dreamed of hearing and then just as quickly had thought he would never hear again.

Dribbling with tears as it had been that first time, a statement, a question, a plea; encompassing so many emotions that it was impossible to say which was dominant. Fear flitting between the letters, confusion clouding their sounds, sadness pealing through the tone, giving way to what might have been surprise, frustrated anger, happiness, strangled relief… or a curious mixture of the spectrum that was nearly cataclysmic in its trembling, but somehow potent delivery…

"Bahn?"


	7. Consummate

Rhapsody 

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**neptunestar**: Thanks for taking the time to review!

**Natalie**: Ack! I can't resist the puppy dog face… ;) Thanks for reviewing.

**bubbicup**: Thanks! I'm glad I could make you happy…

**valley-girl2**: == That is speechlessness right there. I don't know whether to write you one response or five… The way you take the time to quote all the little things, even just to give the tiniest response as to your reaction while reading… there's really nothing to say to it except it's amazing. And of course, you rock. (Let's see… check off "I don't know what to say," the standard "You rock," and "Amazing, in some way, shape or form") I think that about covers it. Thank you so much for your little shout outs and for taking the time toe make one of your massive reviews.

**Kiki**: Oh wow… :) Thank you very much!

**Liz**: Thanks! I think we're all in love with Daddy!Vaughn… ;)  
**caz**: There's no reason to apologize! Thanks for telling me which parts you liked and for reviewing. You know, over at SD-1, someone said the same thing as you did about skipping lines with this and Harry Potter. Huge compliment, strange coincidence. :)

**Carma**: Thanks so much for reviewing. Sorry this isn't really _soon_…

I'm really sorry this took so long guys. :( Again, I blame the papers, projects and exams that accompany the end of the semester (along with other… issues not conducive to writing fluff). And I'm not even sure if this is worth the wait, but here it is regardless. You've all waited long enough…

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Chapter 7: Consummate

He couldn't stop it, couldn't prevent the words from issuing forth from his lips. It would have been futile to put forth the effort; trying wasn't even an option. His words were as automatic as his own heartbeat, as unpreventable as the steady ticking of seconds signifying the passing of day to night and back again. Without following any of the laws of physics, traffic, or protocol, three syllables screamed forth, somehow managing to come across as barely more than a rumbling whisper.

"Hey, buddy…"

Vaughn wasn't sure, but his voice might as broken, might have squeaked as it made its way out his throat and past any barrier of reason. Because suddenly it didn't matter that he was on a CIA assignment in Russia with at least three other officers and Eric Weiss in the room. He could have been in the middle of an important briefing with the president and all the members of his cabinet and the result would have been the same. All lingering thoughts of remaining professional sighed, shrugged into taunting laughter, and went flying out the window, hurtling themselves face first into ice and snow.

"Bahn, Bahn, Bahn…"

Repeating over and over, not an echo, but continually bubbling from the child's lips like water from a fountain, the occasional tear breaking the steady rhythm like pennies tossed from the hands of children, interrupting with a splashing sob before its echo rippled into nonexistence, stopped completely by the thud of tiny sneakers hitting the floor and pattering in his direction.

Vaughn didn't see one of the Russian officers turn to the other and shrug, didn't hear him mumble something that resembled his name in at least a halfway attempt at explanation. The place and exact circumstances may have been dramatically different, but the way the little boy ran to him, as if Vaughn were the only thing he had left in the world, his one source of comfort here to save him from the monsters of the unknown… It was exactly the same.

Except this time, Vaughn met the child halfway, scooping the tiny body into his arms before Ilya had a chance to cling to his legs and look up at him, begging, pleading with something much strong than words, with a trembling chin and two eyes that could jackknife their way straight though the core of his being.

He held the boy close, quickly adjusting to the size and weight that a few months could only bring to a small child, felt the rapid beating of a little heart against how own, hot tears sticking to the skin at his throat as the still so tiny arms stretched around his neck with a frantic grip. The child clung to Vaughn so tightly that the only reason his arms didn't steal the breath from him completely was the fact that, for a moment, Vaughn had even forgotten how to breathe, wouldn't have been consciously able to draw in and expel air for anything in the world. 

Rocking the little boy back and forth just as he had his own son the night before, Vaughn whispered those words that everyone present could hear, but not a soul in the room save the child could understand.

"Shh, Ilya… It's okay… It's okay… Da…"

The words sputtered to a halt as involuntarily as they had first sprung into being, seeming to pull his eyelids at least partially open, not yet showing Vaughn where he was, but at least _who_ it was that he held in his arms. Not his own son, not really and truly…

His mind chastised his heart with a painful beat, quickly amending his statement before he even had so much as the chance to blink, could spend too much time analyzing his near-Freudian slip. "_I'm_ here, Ilya… I'm here…"

An awkward and halting conversation continued around him, one that he didn't hear, but which might have heartened him. It began with Weiss' attempt at some sort of justification, complete with gestures, broken by one of the Russian officer's halting and thickly accented English, his words to the effect that Vaughn's name was the first word that the child had spoken, the first thing they had heard from his little mouth since finding him the night before.

Vaughn would find this out for himself only a few minutes later, too caught up in rocking the sweet child back and forth, trying anything and everything to dry his tears, calm his sobbing body. Somewhere in between that instant and the next, one breath and another, his world froze, all thought, emotion and action suspended, tinted and quivering in soft colors, like cubed pieces of fruit in blue Jell-O.

Alternating rays of light and dream refracted off the sleek surface, sound muffled, distorted into hums and sighs, low mumblings and soft whispers, blocked from finding its way in. In that moment, during the fraction of a blink in which his eyes were completely closed, the weight of the boy transformed into his own son in his arms, Sydney's was the breath he felt tickling his neck, and…

"Hey man…"

And that was all it took, the foot that stuck out before him, tripping him up and sending him head over heels. In an instant, Vaughn's precariously fragile gelatin world smashed to the floor, dreams and feelings wiggling like chunks of fruit and brightly colored cubes of gelled sugar, spraying in a thousand different directions before settling and sparkling like shards of broken glass never to be put wholly together again.

"… are we gonna go check out the house?"

Vaughn turned, following the familiar hand on his elbow up until it became an arm, a shoulder, and finally led to Weiss' face. A few years ago, Vaughn would have met his friend's strange glance with red cheeks and a sheepish smile. But now there was no sudden rush of color or embarrassment as he slowly swiveled to take in the surrounding faces before resting his gaze on Eric's once again.

"You go," he answered, as simply as if that had been the plan all along, knowing that there was no way he'd let Ilya out of his arms so soon, not when the poor child was still clinging to him so tightly, still so worked up. "I'll stay here and see what else they know. It'll go quicker that way."

Weiss nodded, glancing from this friend to the little boy in his arms and back again, honestly not remembering if this were something that the mission had entailed, wishing for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes that he had actually taken a second to _read_ the damn thing. But it really wouldn't have mattered whether it had been outlined in the briefing or not. There was something in the child's eyes, and even in those of his friend, that screamed to him that this was the way things were supposed to be. 

Watching Weiss leave, Vaughn brought a hand up to the back of Ilya's head, glancing down to where it rested against his shoulder. It didn't seem to matter that months had passed, that the little boy was supposed to be older; his thumb was still so tiny, still fit perfectly in his mouth, brought him comfort when nothing else could. They were picking up right where they had left off, as if the time that had passed had been no longer-lasting than the stain of hot breath against a mirror.

The rest of the mission whirred by in a rushing blur of sights and smells, Vaughn's impatient English fumbling next to the thick accents and a hurried Russian that he didn't even halfway understand. He didn't let Ilya out of his arms for a second, not at the police station, in the van, or during any part of the long flight home. But the little boy wasn't heavy, only served as a hindrance by steadily increasing the nagging, gnawing desire to have Sydney and Gabriel with the child in his arms.

From seeming like years, to days, to mere hours, minutes, seconds… Time passed, in that seeming slow motion known as reality, always slowest when it is least convenient. Ticking away through another agonizingly long, but not quite as silent plane ride, a few moments on the freeway, and a sidestep to the CIA building… and he was finally home.

Heart pounding fear didn't follow Vaughn this time as he turned the key in the lock of his apartment door. He couldn't put his finger on it, didn't understand how he knew that everything was all right now, when almost two days ago, he had been breathless with terror and anxiety.

Maybe it was because this night was not so dark, was not howling and weeping in warning and sadness, amplified by a gnawing fear that had been sparked by his almost oddly telepathic connection with Sydney, so close even when so far apart that he had even felt her dreaming. How she had known, how some sort of peculiarly coincidental link had connected her to the little boy and his grandmother across continents and oceans was still a mystery, one that tonight's bright moon and gently caressing breeze were not going to answer.

And maybe it was that same breeze and moon that made him feel so at ease. Maybe it was because he was almost too exhausted to think straight, let alone set aside the necessary brain cells to worry. Or maybe it simply had something to do with the little boy who lay asleep in his arms, legs dangling, tiny hands hanging limply at his side and his head carefully placed on his shoulder. Perhaps some things really were as simple as that.

With a gentle push, the apartment door swung softly open and Vaughn stepped inside. He had barely shut it behind him and begun to tiptoe across the floor when a whispered melody echoed down the hallway.

"Vaughn?"

A sudden, inexplicable relief flooded him, a reaction that only her voice could garner, a warmth that surged forth, ebbing just as suddenly as it had washed over him, replaced with concern as to why she wasn't yet in bed, a question he didn't ask because he already knew that the answer was for the same reason he hadn't been able to sleep on the plane. They were a hopeless case: each unable to find rest without the other's breaths and heartbeats singing them to sleep.

Sydney's question had barely been loud enough to even be considered a murmur, but it must have been the father-holding-sleeping-child-reaction that made him put his finger to his lips, quiet moments treasured and few with a newborn in the house. She appeared in the doorway, and Vaughn smiled when he found his gesture unnecessary, saw Gabriel's sleeping body snuggling against her shoulder. Letting his wonder-filled smile gracefully stand in for his hello and knowing that his greeting reverberated in her ears as well as her heart, he watched her step closer, his own feet held down with Krazy Glue, incapable of squeaking even the tiniest amount of space forward. 

She stopped before him, so close that the two children they held were nearly touching, the only two things that could keep her from springing to his arms. "They let you take him…"

Vaughn heard her words almost before she spoke them, surprise and something that might have been relief sparkling through the air in their wake. She took one of her hands from Gabriel's back and ran it gently through Ilya's hair, fingering the soft, dark strands, as if they were more precious than spun gold.

"Actually," Vaughn began quietly, lacing his fingers through her own and tugging them across the few inches that separated the little boy's head from his lips, kissing her fingertips simply because his lips were drawn to her, it would have been impossible for them to keep from her skin for a second longer. "I told them I was taking him and left."

And he had, staying at the CIA building barely long enough to give the required report, and leaving before anyone could tell him their future plans for the boy. He would have been under CIA protection one way or another, but… "It's okay, ri…?"

"It's perfect," Sydney mumbled, stifling a yawn as she tilted her head down to brush her cheek gently against the top of Gabriel's head and peered up at him. "You don't have to ask."

"I know. It's just with…" He trailed off, suddenly unable to recollect how he had even let the thought cross his mind. Of course Sydney would have, would have wanted…

But even that thread was snipped as one thought after another cascaded downward in his urge to tell her everything at once. Something else sprung suddenly to mind, something that seemed far more important than anything else that he could have… "He asked for you on the plane."

A breathing pause, one in which the words were allowed to sink in fully, to beat against eardrums and leave an echo, to hit against every cell in and nerve leading to the brain, so that they could both almost hear the little boy's voice as it had sounded that first time he had stumbled over her name.

"Really?"

She straightened, the smile that escaped her lips so dazzling, Vaughn was surprised that neither of the sleeping children awakened. It was the very same smile that never failed to render him weak in the knees, to make his heart skip not one beat, but at least three, and to clog his windpipe with a tangled, tangible form of what used to be air.

All the more beautiful because she knew it, all of this, knew that it was the most compelling weapon she would ever possess when it came to him, that she could effectively have him down for the count every moment of every day. But she would never, could never hold its power over him, didn't seem in control of the moments that that smile stole over her lips, immediately enlisting the help of her sparkling eyes, deploying her dimples and calling in the rest of her facial features to complete the effect. 

It was captivating. It was gorgeous. And although it almost killed him, he didn't care, would have been content to live with no other purpose than to be brought from the dungeon for a moment each day and simply see her smile. He would live without light, comfort, food, water, air, if it were possible; would live without everything in the world but that one part of her.

Vaughn could only nod in response to her question, words escaping him, running off like bloodhounds at the sight of a rabbit, leaving him helplessly mute until they felt like tiptoeing their way back. Breath and heartbeat sprang valiantly to the rescue in their absence, mingling with all their might, attempting to mold themselves into something resembling speech, but coming out as nothing more than a soft sigh.

He waited for a fistful of stringing seconds, allowing a few more to link themselves onto the chain than he would have liked. But words were taking far too long, seemed to have lost themselves, found a detour, or were lollygagging, reluctantly dragging their feet through the return trip. Vaughn couldn't wait forever for the power of speech to find its way back, leaned forward to steal the smile from her lips before it could disappear of its own accord. The kiss was quick, awkward, with the cherished bundles they both held in their arms, but nothing had ever been closer to paradise, more fitting, more needed than that was at that moment.

Shifting Ilya so that he could comfortably walk with a free hand and entwining her fingers with his own, well aware that even the short walk down the hallway to Gabriel's room would be next to impossible if he was separated from her even by an inch, Vaughn allowed speech to leisurely trip its way back to him. As he and Sydney slowly wove their way down the hall, steps halting as they both unconsciously savored the moment, he murmured a few important details about the mission, told her how both their names had been the only two words the child had spoken, whispered that he had requested and been granted the next few days off until the CIA found…

Vaughn wasn't able to finish his sentence, and not just because he didn't want to think of what would happen when Ilya had to return to his family once again, to consider that maybe it wasn't a good idea to allow themselves to get attached to him all over again. The little troupe had walked into Gabriel's room, the nightlight illuminating the portable crib that had been set up right next to their son's. Ready with blankets and the stuffed dinosaur that they had both claimed to have forgotten to pack for the child, each knowing as well as the other that it had been saved as their one memento, had sat on their dresser not because they had wanted to remember to send it to the boy, but because it had been needed as a reminder in itself, to help ease the sting of sudden separation.

Sydney's shy smile added a soft glow to the room, dimming slightly as she bent to kiss the top of Gabriel's head and tenderly tucked the little boy in. Vaughn did the same with the child he held in his arms, smiling as the little boy sighed and snuggled under the covers. He stepped back and put a hand on the railing of Gabriel's crib, wondering if Sydney had put the two so close together for this sole purpose, so he could stand by both of them, see both children in one glance.

He wasn't even aware he had opened his mouth, only noticing when it shut itself after the last notes of the lullaby sung from within him, coming and going as easily as the breaths that the babes before him took in their sleep. So many times those words had left his lips, but he still wouldn't have been able to recite them on command. They flowed as smoothly as sweet honey from the hive, trickling down over everything, not in a sticky mess, but pure honeycombed perfection; only when the time was right. And there was no way any moment could have been more deserving than that one, could have been more…

Vaughn took a couple slow steps backwards as if to leave the room, but stopped, unable to tear his eyes or heart away from the scene before him. It was as if he didn't know how long it was going to last, was waiting for it to disappear before his eyes. He didn't know how long the two of them stood there watching. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, a couple minutes, maybe. He would have gladly let it stretch to eternity, never missing an instant of either of the children's lives.

In the saccharine world of paradisiacal fantasy, that would have been possible in less than the blink of an eye, half of a twitch of that first muscle that pulls breath into the lungs or pumps blood too and from the heart. But reality wasn't quite so kind, had a much different agenda.

Exhaustion yanked at his muscles and limbs, the sweet scene before him acting as a weight on his eyelids, pulling them down and threatening to knock him into a dream-filled unconsciousness, one so deeply satisfying that he wouldn't even have felt the crack of his body hitting the ground.

He had felt Sydney press up against him, had known that they had been too close to not be touching, that the warmth he felt was only possible when she was with him. Preparing to move, he was surprised to find that his arms were held firmly in place, as if the moment had locked very joint in his body. Looking down, he realized that her hands were linked with his own, each one of their fingers wrapped around another in such an intricate problem that even if they had wanted to discern the one from the other, they wouldn't have been able to.

He didn't know who had initiated the gesture, who had been the first to reach out and find the other, draw the both of them closer together. But he _did_ know that close contact with her was all that could have relaxed him so completely, that such a feeling of satisfaction tingling with rapture would have been otherwise impossible.

A quick tilt of the head and a glance in her direction uncovered the gleam in her eyes, revealing that she had been as clueless to their innocent union as he had been. But he didn't need to squint in the softly glowing light to judge her contentment, to know that the touch of his fingers, his skin, thrilled her just as it did him. That was spoken in her soft sigh, the ever so slightly increasing pressure of her fingers on his, her body twisting just enough to allow her to inch a fraction of a millimeter closer to him, the tiniest amount of space that made the grandest difference, more than would ever be possible to simply imagine.

Maybe Weiss was right. Maybe the two of them were a hopeless case, destined to be that bordering on annoyingly loving couple that somehow turned the heads of every person nearby, inciting jealousy, adoration, nostalgia, curiosity and wonderment from dozens of watching eyes and silent minds, simply with a love-laced glance, the linking of hearts and hands…

Or, as Eric had put it a few days ago, much less poetically: "You, my friend, are the pansy-assed laughingstock of every testosterone-filled male on the planet. You need to either get your damned pants back or start wearing Syd's dresses. You'll do much more justice for the drag queens of the world than you're doing for us, man…"

Either way… Vaughn didn't care.

It was moments like these when his heart clicked its ruby slippers and truly went home, when he thought that it must have been living in a refrigerator box on the side of some road before he had met her, wondered how he had been able to live so long without this sweet satisfaction, without the bliss and everyday wonder of her yellow brick road.

Unwilling to shatter the moment, but knowing that sleep would if he didn't first, Vaughn shifted so that she knew to follow him, and led her from the room, taking her not to their bedroom, as she would have suspected, but instead drawing her toward the living room. He knew that fatigue was softly starting to steal over them both, and as much as he wanted to curl up with her in his arms and slink off into slumber, he still wanted to talk with her, knew they stood a better chance if they were seated on the couch than they would snuggled up in bed; a small one, but still a chance, nonetheless.

Sinking into one of the cushions, he leaned back and pulled her gently down with him, her body falling flush against his own so that not a molecule of space separated him, so that she was very nearly seated in his lap. Vaughn was almost ready to lift her, pick her up and pull her that small distance so that she would be fully in his arms, but her murmured words caught him before he had the chance.

"You don't think she was…" Sydney began, pausing there, unable to find the right word, quickly giving up on her brief search and continuing, even though her soft, "Do you?" was unnecessary.

Vaughn knew what she was alluding to, had wondered himself if it were possible that the CIA had made such a treacherous mistake, had sent the precious little boy right into the claws of danger, if Devora Domaslavov was something other than the sweet, sad woman they had thought her…

He rubbed his eyes, forehead furrowing. "I don't know what to think…" Bringing his hand down as his words trailed off and automatically linking his fingers with hers, not noticing the two sighs of satisfaction that echoed in tandem to complete the action. "You should have been there, Syd… I didn't know what was going to happen, what to expect. But when I walked in that doorway…"

There was no need to finish, no words that could have completed that sentence better than the hum of stillness did. Sydney snuggled closer to him as silence descended and wove its way around their bodies, drawing their two breaths into one, squeezing their hearts so they beat in time with each other. Vaughn pulled her into his arms, kissing her softly, needing to feel and taste every inch of her, somehow able to do that with such a simple gesture, only a whisper of a kiss.

Sydney's head rested against his shoulder, her hand trailing down his neck and chest, absently fingering the buttons on his shirt as his fingers brushed back and forth through her hair. "Your mom called today," she murmured after a few minutes, her voice slightly muffled as her lips vibrated against his neck.

"Yeah?"

It was the way of most of their conversations. Her statements followed by his simple questions, asking for answers of mere repetition. The first few times, he had tried to convince himself that he didn't know what else to say and was purely trying to keep up his end of conversation, but he had since given in to the fact that he simply wanted to hear her voice in answer, a few extra syllables of her melody before they tumbled into one of their inevitable, understanding silences.

"Mm hmm…" Sydney responded with a tickling sigh, the sound more than sating his immediate thirst for her voice. "She wanted to make sure you didn't forget about this weekend, but…" She pushed off his chest suddenly, the chill of cool air hitting the space where she had been nearly enough to freeze him, but he resisted the impulse to pull her back to him, letting her lean back to look into his eyes. "Ilya."

He paused for only a second before shrugging and offering her a response, didn't even need that long to come up with one; there was only one natural thing to do. "We'll take him with us."

Sydney's eyes told him that she wanted it to be that simple, that she would like nothing more than to take the boy with them wherever they went, not having to worry about any consequences that might arise. "What'll we tell her?"

Smiling softly at her truly worried tone, Vaughn placed a hand on the back of her head, gently pulling her closer and kissing her forehead. "We can worry about that later," he murmured, his lips still pressed against her skin. "I'll call her tomorrow."

"You're sure?" She asked when she pulled away, her dark eyes questioning; wanting, needing to sure. There was something more to this, something so slight that… "It _is_ your mother, and…"

"Syd," he whispered, his voice hushing her own. He brushed a loose lock of hair behind her ear, allowing him to clearly see every inch of her face, catch the first glimpse of the dimples that were only beginning to cave in her cheeks just at the softness of his tone. "She'll love him. Just like she loves you…"

As he trailed off, Sydney's voice undulated through the air to his ears. He heard it as one hears shouts of laughter while underwater, a slight mumble through a pea-soup-thick thick haze. She was mentioning something about his mother, something that he should have been paying attention to, that could as likely as not pertain to a story about him that could have been relayed earlier…

But as hard as he tried, he couldn't focus, couldn't press the sounds into anything that had meaning. The sheer sound of her voice lured her away from the sense of her words. To pay attention would have been like a child resisting the pied piper; a snake, the charmer's eerie melody; an old man, the sickle of death…

There was something about… about the way Sydney looked at that moment… It was how she always looked, he realized anew every time, but it still managed to catch him off guard. At instants like this, innocence abounding, the air heavy, crackling with unspoken words, tickling emotions and cloudlike thoughts; when she didn't have to do anything more than exist and he would be too lost, too far gone for his own good. It captivated him, held him prisoner, and…

"How can you do that?"

Her question snapped him back to attention. It took a moment for her spoken words to jingle through his mind before reverberating as something that made sense, and it was only then that he realized that her earlier words had trailed off, that the two of them had been encased in a heartbeating silence…

"What?"

She smiled, a motion that was half shy, half amused, her head tilting as her voice rambled forth. "Look at me. Like…"

_…like a day spent without her was far too long. Like he hadn't seen her nearly every other day for the past year, was just seeing her smiling face for the first time in decades, centuries, in more time than the earth, moon and stars had been in existence…_

Not a single thought had passed through his lips, been allowed to leave the editing room of his mind and heart, the exact phrases never perfect enough, continually rewritten to match the moment, to near something that much closer to perfection, to the printing press of his tongue. He hadn't spoken a word, but hadn't needed to for her to understand. Her reply whispered to him like a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of suffocation, hardly a full word, nearly lost in her smile, all amusement gone, shyness, aided by wonder, taking over completely.

"Yeah…"

That one syllable, the way her head was tilted up to face him, how her eyes sparkled and the air between them seemed to become tangible, pose as too strong a barrier… The combined effort almost did him in, was potent enough to stop his heart with a single dose, barely enough to sit on the tip of an eyelash, the foot of a flea…

His thoughts ran rampant with images that couldn't be expressed, that not a one of the thousands of languages in the world had words, or even letter, symbols or sounds to express. And as he sat, gazing into her eyes, locking souls with hers, he realized that what he had, in his arms and in his heart, was something most others could only taste in their dreams, the sweet, spun-sugar that fairytales are made of…

"You're so beautiful…"

Three words fumbling from his lips on an outtake of breath that somehow managed to express every thought jolting through his mind and beating through his heart, while at the same time coming nowhere near their depth. The words themselves, though uttered in truth, were nothing'; but the breath of air on which they rode, pulsating with life, meaning and something completely inexplicable, something…

Something shattered almost but not quite beyond recognition by the desperate, childish wail of his last name; curling its way around his heartstrings, first gently plucking, then flashing to a sharp, jagged glass that nearly severed them completely. Sydney jumped up automatically, her heart fluttering at the sad sound of the child's frightened voice.

Three heartbeats, one deep breath of near silence, in which Sydney barely had the time to begin her sentence, much less end it. "I'll…"

And there was the wail they had grown so accustomed to hearing this past month, that would have seemed piercing, deafening to anyone other than the two of them, but which they somehow adored simply because of the child who uttered it. Followed by and quickly mixing with Ilya's sobs as Gabriel's tears frightened him further, because he had no idea where he was, couldn't place the shrieking that rattled through the air, didn't know why he had fallen asleep in Vaughn's arms and awakened to find him nowhere in sight.

Vaughn stood beside Sydney, all sound and time stopping for that one second his lips pressed gently against her temple, rushing back as soon as he pulled away, prodding them onward, pushing each of them instinctively toward one of the sobbing little boys. Murmurs of comfort mingled with breaths and tears, filling the room while they each held a child fast in their arms.

Showering the top of his little head with comforting kisses, Vaughn glanced up from where Gabriel had snuggled into his arms. His son had quieted the instant he had picked him up, instantly recognizing his father's touch and reveling in it, allowing Vaughn to direct his attention elsewhere.

Sydney and Ilya were a few feet away, the little boy's cries echoing through the room for a moment longer as he struggled to get out of Sydney's arms, quieting the instant he looked up into her eyes, recognition flashing over his own.

"T-Tyd?"

The one syllable caught on tears and clung to them, wavering as it trickled from his lips. He didn't wait for an answer before throwing his arms around her neck, didn't need one to know that everything really was all right now, that he was where he belonged.

Sydney smiled softly and Vaughn thought he saw the ghost of a tear sparkling in the corner of her eye. "Yeah, sweetie…" she murmured, kissing Ilya's head and rubbing his back. "It's okay…"

Vaughn watched her, enchanted, completely mesmerized by the onslaught of senses: Sydney's voice tapering off to a breathy silence; Ilya clinging to her, tightly at first, before laying his head on her shoulder and taking an arm from around her neck to stick his thumb in his mouth; the beautiful warmth and weight of his own son in his arms…

Eventually it all became too much, the air between them seeming to stretch out for miles. He crossed it in two small steps, pressing his side against her own, offering that pressure in place of the hug it would have been impossible to give her. As Sydney tilted her head to face him, her lips curled upward in a smile, seemed to want to open and let speech froth forth, but wouldn't have found any words waiting within; there was nothing to say in moments like these.

Letting the seconds tick by for a little longer, they were about to walk from the room, both in silent agreement that the little boys should sleep with them tonight, knowing that they wouldn't be able to let them out of their arms. But they froze back in place when Ilya's head popped up from Sydney's shoulder, his thumb leaving his mouth as he leaned forward, scrutinizing the child that Vaughn held in his arms. His dark eyes twisted in confusion, glancing from Gabriel to Vaughn to Sydney and back.

"It's okay," Sydney nodded when Ilya's gaze fell upon her once again in question. She kissed her fingertips, brushing them gently against her son's cheek and smiling. "That's Gabriel… Baby Gabe…"

Without a word, Ilya hesitantly reached out in Gabriel's direction, much as Sydney had done moments before. Vaughn turned so that the two little boys were closer, allowing Ilya to pat a hand softly against his son's body. Gabriel watched with blinking eyes, bringing his own hand down on top of Ilya's, grasping at the older boy's fingers.

Ilya seemed startled for a moment, still somewhat unsure of what to make of all this. But a second later, he sighed in soft satisfaction, leaving his fingers in Gabriel's grip, putting his other thumb in his mouth and settling back onto Sydney's shoulder.

Warmth and comfort washed over Vaughn and waves, beating in time with his heart with a force so overwhelming that it nearly knocked him off his feet. Throbbing with too many emotions to count, some that he could swear he had never felt before, hadn't yet been discovered or named; but that was the way he had always felt, first only with Sydney, then naturally expanding to include their child, and now…

The tears in Sydney's eyes came to life this time, one of them escaping and trickling down her cheek, an overflow of the emotion that she couldn't contain. She tried to laugh its existence, bringing a hand up to brush it away. "I don't know why…"  
  


"Shh…" Vaughn interrupted softly, carefully moving so that the little boys' hands wouldn't break apart, wiping away that single tear with his thumb, knowing somehow that his gesture was futile, that the draw of emotion would squeeze others from within.

His hand framed her face, tilting her chin upward so his lips could capture hers, the completion of a perfect instant, a snapshot in the photo album of time that would burst with memory. They sighed into each other for two short seconds that unfolded into the stars, extended for millions of miles beyond thought and heaven, could have been bottled and sold as perfection.

Two seconds that inevitably had to end, but not indefinitely; the promise of more twinkling in the stars and lingering in the air. His hand found hers, completing their little circle as they meandered down the hallway, only breaking as the four of them snuggled into that one half of the bed, sighing off to a sleep more delicious than any of them had tasted in awhile. Four breaths and four heartbeats were all the words, all the lullaby that the night required…


	8. Jeopardy

Rhapsody

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**caz**: Thanks so much. I'm glad you thought it was worth the wait. I'm not quite sure if this one is, but we shall see… Ugh, the last essay I wrote, I think I redid parts of it a dozen times. Thank God that's over. I hope you did well on yours… Thanks again for taking the time to write such a nice review. :)

**Natalie**: Haha, you're welcome, I think… ;) Hmm, daughters… Thanks for reviewing!

**valley-girl2**: First, let's get one thing straightened away: You do _not_ return _a fraction_ of whatever happiness I give to you. You return it _at least_ tenfold… And don't worry about not having the time to review. You do what you can, and you've done more than enough already… Titles… eh, I just find a word that sorta, kinda works. Sometimes it's just one that I want (or will go out of my way) to try to use. Like 'lollygagging' ;) It's fun (I'm an English major. I get my kicks how I can) Ooh, and I'm just re-reading what you wrote about that title (it's been awhile), and I'm not thinking you're going to appreciate the ending of this chapter, but… As always, thank you so much for taking what has to be an immense amount of time for one of your amazing reviews. I just love them.

**LoopyLu1**: Thank you so much for taking the time to review! :)

Sorry for the wait again, everyone. Had to finish up all the school stuff and then get my wisdom teeth out. But now summer is here, and I finally have free time to write. The rest of the chapters shouldn't take nearly as these last few have…

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Chapter 8: Jeopardy

"How're they doing?" Vaughn asked, glancing into the rearview mirror even though Sydney had already swiveled around to check the two little passengers in the backseat.

With their heads tilted in opposite directions, eyes closed, Gabriel's mouth working furiously on his pacifier and Ilya's fingers brushing absently over his face as he sucked his thumb, the children were the utter picture of perfection. It had only been three days, and it was strange how absolutely normal it was to look back and see two car seats, to turn _him_ to _them_ in every statement, twist a simple _Gabe_ into _Gabe'n'Ilya_, as if the two children were long lost twins, two parts of the same whole, had grown up together all of their short lives.

"Still sleeping," Sydney answered, even though she knew he was as aware of it as she was. Turning back around and offering him a wry smile, she settled into her seat with a sigh. "Maybe instead of putting them to bed tonight, we should just go for a drive."

Vaughn chuckled softly, glad that he had gotten that response. With anyone other than Sydney, that statement would have been a complaint, the sigh emitted along with it bordering on annoyance. But he had seen her face whenever one of their little boys cried out at night, caught the gleam of sorrow lurking in her eyes even now at the mere thought of one of Ilya's heart-wrenching sobs.

In the few short days he had been with him, they had both memorized the shriek that always accompanied one of Ilya's nightmares, would have been able to pick it out of a roomful of screams just as they could with any of Gabriel's cries. A plea, a strangled sob, a scream for help; it was a sound that could pierce even the hardest heart and melt it into a warm, sticky goo, wreaked indescribable havoc on the two of theirs, pureeing them almost beyond use or recognition.

That such a small child had already had such unhappiness in his life, that there was nothing they could do to prevent the demons that lurked behind his closed eyelids from rearing their ugly heads… It had only been a few nights, but already more than once, Vaughn had taken Sydney into his arms after they had lulled the little boy back to sleep, had felt her shoulders shake against him, the deep breaths threatening to split her lungs as she tried to hide her tears. He would run his hand up and down her arm, kiss her shoulder softly, repeatedly, not stopping until she turned in his arms and wrapped her own around his neck, let her hot tears dampen the skin at his throat, and…

"We're almost there." He smiled reassuringly as he said it, but she wouldn't make eye contact, instead shifting in her seat, seeming unable to find a comfortable position and giving up with a small sigh.

There was something about that noise that he couldn't exactly put his finger on, something that made that particular sigh different from the one he had heard just moments before. It was another symbol in the unspoken language that only the two of them could understand, as powerful as a well-chosen verb, as telling as any adjective, as helpful as every article, or as necessary as the _Wheel of Fortune_ standbys: R, S, T, L, N, and E.

"Syd, what's wrong?"

The day had started out well enough. They had left the apartment mid-morning, packed and ready for a weekend with Vaughn's mother. Smiles had abounded at first; they had tried for what seemed like the millionth time to get Ilya to speak, repeating Gabriel's name over and over, and only getting their own in return. But as the two little boys had fallen asleep and the numbers ticked steadily upwards on the odometer, Sydney's smile had slowly started to slip away.

He had wanted to write it off as tiredness, had suggested that she close her eyes for a while. She had agreed with a nod, but kept them open; he had noticed, but hadn't said a word. That had been over an hour ago and her half-teasing response to his question had practically been the first thing she had said since then. She parted her lips to answer him, but Vaughn shook his head to prevent her words, taking his eyes off the road for half a second in order to search for hers.

"And don't say 'nothing.'" His tone was soft but firm, his words holding all the power and meaning of _Don't lie to me…_ without the sickening, fist-to-the-stomach thud that would have accompanied those four. Taking a hand from the steering wheel, he quickly found hers, needing to feel her, wanting her to understand. "Please."

His voice, his touch stirred something deep within her, luring her smile out of hiding and parading it to her lips as she couldn't help but grin at his obvious concern, squeezing his hand both in thanks and reassurance. He thought for a moment that that was the only answer she was going to give him, but she surprised him yet again.

"Do you think I look okay in this?" she asked, gesturing to flowered skirt and simple top she had chosen that morning. "Maybe I should have…"

"Syd," Vaughn stopped her, laughter and relief threading its way though the letters of her name, glad that not only had he gotten to the source of her troubles, but it was something so simple. She could have been wearing a potato sack and he could have told her in all honesty that she was absolutely stunning. There was just no question about it. "You look fine. Beautiful."

He kissed her fingertips and for the moment that was all the reassurance she needed. With that one simple gesture he had cast a spell over her, one bubbling to the brim with truth and light, that would never break as long as they both lived. She was powerless when it came to him, even with the simplest of actions, the softest of whispers, the lightest of touches of his skin to hers.

He only needed to murmur her name to entice the rest out of her, his voice entrancing her, becoming the spinning wheel needle that she couldn't have resisted for pain of death itself. "Syd?"

"I know I've met your mother before and she stayed with us after Gabriel's birth, but…" Sydney paused and took a deep breath, preparing both herself and Vaughn for the onslaught. "I think we were engaged only weeks after she even knew I existed, and the first time she laid eyes on me was moments after giving birth to her son's child. She _knows_ we haven't been exactly… _chaste_. And probably thinks I've corrupted you beyond…"

"Sydney…" Vaughn cut her off, stopping the car and turning quickly to frame her face with his hands, holding her in place so she couldn't turn from his gaze. "First of all, I grew up with my mother; she _knew_ me in high school. If anything, she thinks _I've_ corrupted _you_. Secondly, you've already started to help her attain her lifelong dream of having a hundred grandchildren. She's crazy about Gabe. And third, you're gorgeous. Right now, in your pajamas, after just giving birth... Always…"

He paused his speech for a moment, watching the color that crept into her cheeks with his words. He had her undivided attention, had captivated her completely from the moment he said her name. His thumbs began to brush back and forth along her cheeks, and he knew he had to finish before he…

"My mother loves you. I love you…"

Only seven more words before he surrendered, letting his voice trail off as he kissed her softly, quickly, his lips barely sweeping against hers for more than a moment before he pulled away, just far enough to allow a breath of air between them.

"…And we're here."

Letting go of her and settling back into his seat, he watched as she slowly swiveled to take in the view, loving the thousands of expressions that ran across her face in that single second, the way her lips parted and her eyes widened as if by doing so they could capture more of the scene that surrounded them.

"Vaughn… You never told me…"

Perhaps the eighteen years he had spent under its roof had numbed him to the beauty of his childhood home. Perhaps he thought every American citizen on the West Coast had grown up with the Pacific Ocean literally in their backyard. Perhaps he had never really bothered to open his eyes.

"It's just a house," he shrugged.

And from a man's point of view, that's probably all it was. But Sydney had the differing chromosome and hormones allowing her to see beyond the wooden walls and shingled roof. It _was_ a house, but one that must have leapt straight from the pages of a pop-up fairytale. Big enough to comfortably accommodate a growing family, small enough so that none of its inherent quaintness was lost; this was the kind of house that dreams were made of, that maybe she and Vaughn would…

A click jolted her back to reality, as Vaughn opened his door and invited the sound of the ocean to their ears. Fumbling his way out of the car, eyes unable to move from her to watch where he was going, he somehow found his way to the back and opened the door, a small whimper immediately focusing his attention elsewhere.

Gabriel's eyes blinked open, revealing the same hazel that Vaughn had fallen in love with that very first day. The child yawned sleepily, his pacifier falling from his mouth as he tried to stretch within the constraints of his car seat, quickly giving up and staring up at his father as if to plead with him to get him out of there.

"Hey little guy…" Vaughn mumbled, fingers slipping as they felt their way over the straps and buckles. He heard a door open and shut, but didn't dare take his eyes from his little boy as he tenderly unbuckled him from the car seat.

Sydney could have done it much quicker; they both knew that. Vaughn was always so insanely afraid of pinching or harming their son in any way that it took him nearly twice as long. But as impatient as they both could be at times, she never pushed him away to do it herself, content to watch him, as she was even now, mesmerized every time he performed this simple task.

Both engaged as they were in Vaughn's actions, they didn't even have the children out of the car before a now familiar voice fluttered through the wind. "Where's my grandson and his beautiful mother?"

With his son finally unbuckled, Vaughn tore his eyes away from him to meet Sydney's across the backseat, smiling at her as he lifted Gabriel into his arms. He watched for half a second as she slowly prodded Ilya from sleep with gentle kisses, the drowsy little boy wrapping his arms around her neck and burying his face in her shoulder when she picked him up.

"What about me, Maman?" Vaughn finally asked with a laugh, glancing once more at the little boy in his arms before walking over to his mother and kissing both her cheeks.

Charlotte clicked her tongue and shook her head. "I've known you for over thirty years. But this little one… Oh, he's gotten so big!" She took Gabriel from his arms, showering his little face with kisses as she rocked him back and forth. "Sydney dear, I swear this child gets more beautiful every time I see him. He must take after his mother."

Spinning to face his fiancée, Vaughn had to admit that his mother must be right. With her shy smile and the faint blush that colored her cheeks as she murmured her thanks, Sydney was practically glowing. The way her hair shone in the sun and ruffled gently in the breeze as she exchanged greetings with his mother, locking eyes with his for just a moment before tilting her face downward and trying to coax Ilya out of hiding…

"Michael?" Charlotte asked, nodding in Sydney's direction, "Aren't you going to properly introduce me to Sydney's new young man?"

Vaughn smiled. He had called his mother the other day to inform her of the circumstances and provide her with as much information as he was allowed to divulge. She knew who the little boy was, but was sympathetic enough to their situation to steer it as close to normality as possible. "This," he started, just as the little boy peeked up from Sydney's shoulder, "is Ilya."

"He really does look like he belongs to the two of you," Charlotte mused, examining the child's dark eyes, and the facial features that looked strangely similar to those that had belonged to her own little boy. She ran her free hand through Ilya's dark hair in greeting. "Hello there."

"He doesn't speak much…" Vaughn explained.

"Yet," Sydney added, seeming to need it more for her own reassurance than anything else. They had had this discussion numerous times over the past few days, forgetting each time that the child wasn't theirs, that his speech therapy wasn't part of their responsibility, wasn't something they should have to worry about…

"Ah, the strong silent type," Charlotte responded, offering Ilya a smile. "I'm sure we'll get along famously this weekend. I tidied up your old room a bit if you and Sydney want to stay there, but there's also the guest room, if you'd prefer. You can set all the boys' things in my room. I'll take them nights to give you two a bit of a break this weekend."

Vaughn could sense Sydney's response even before he heard it, knew that she would be able to come up with a million and one reasons why they couldn't let his mother take the children overnight… "Oh, we can't let you…"

"Nonsense, dear. You look like you could use the break, and it's my pleasure, really."

"Vaughn…" Sydney tried again, turning to face him.

One look into her eyes was enough to show him that the anxious, frightened glaze had returned to them, all the comfort that the initial meeting with his mother had brought them, gone. He took Ilya from her and set him on the ground next to his mother. "Maman, can I talk to Sydney for a second?"

He didn't wait for much more than a nod before putting a hand to the small of Sydney's back and leading her just far enough away so they were out of earshot. Even though they had just gained their semi-solitude, the two of them seemed unaware of their small audience as they stood by the car. Vaughn pulled Sydney close, tilting her chin up with the tip of his finger in a gesture more tender than any his mother would have thought him capable of.

Their words were small whispers, easily overwhelmed by the wind and waves, but even so, Charlotte could sense the trailing off of thoughts and half-spoken phrases. Words weren't necessary between a couple so intricately connected that one of them could take a hitching breath a half-mile away and the other would feel it, when just one salty tear could simultaneously sting two different colored eyes. The connection between the two of them that was more powerful than a universe of dynamite, capable of explosions that would thrill and dazzle the mind without causing an instant of chaos or a micron of destruction.

Sydney's head dropped again and she tried to look away, but Vaughn was insistent, pulled her so impossibly close that it would have looked uncomfortable with anyone else, didn't seem like the smallest distance would be close enough for the two of them. A hand was on her cheek, his thumb running underneath her eye as his lips found the smooth skin of her forehead; she leaned into him as if drawn by an irresistible force, as if both their lives depended on it, and the world would perish if they were drawn apart again.

Maybe twenty seconds had passed since the two of them had separated themselves from the others, thirty, perhaps, but certainly no more than that. A few moments were all that was needed for quiet reassurance, all that was necessary for them to convey their love for each other and unconsciously display it to the world.

Charlotte did not want to infringe on whatever moment the two young lovers were sharing, something deeper than even the two of them could understand or their actions could ever express, but somehow couldn't force her eyes away. There was something about Sydney Bristow, a woman she had never met until just over a month ago, that brought out a side of her son that she didn't know had existed, a sweetness and happiness Charlotte would have never thought possible.

It was hard to believe that this was the same little boy who had hid his peas in his milk at dinner, chased the girls clear across the playground, and had attempted to convince her that two in the morning was an appropriate curfew on a school night. It seemed like just yesterday her little Michael was scrunching up his nose, peering up at her with his vivid, green eyes, his tiny voice declaring… _Girls are yucky!_ _I'm never ever gonna kiss one, Maman. Scout's honor!…_

A sudden tapping against her leg lured Charlotte out of her reverie, and looking downward, she found two dark, serious eyes peering into her own. She grinned down at Ilya, the very same smile that had at that exact moment broken from her own son's lips. That familiar smile coupled with a few tender words was all that was needed to convince Ilya to reach for her outstretched hand.

"Bahn," he said pointedly, gazing steadily into her eyes before turning and pointing toward the car where her son and his fiancée were standing.

"That's right," Charlotte nodded, chuckling at first at how the little boy had picked up on Sydney's habit of referring to Michael by his last name, but soon also at how her son's back was now to her as he tried futilely to hide the fact that his lips had found Sydney's just a few feet away from where they were standing.

Shaking her head, murmuring something about trying not turning into his father and bending to kiss the tip of Gabriel's nose, Charlotte straightened and called out, "Michael?"

He had been so rapt in getting to the heart of Sydney's fears, finally convincing her that they were not putting his mother in an awkward position with Ilya's presence, that she had had enough experience with the CIA to know which questions to ask and which to let alone, that she loved children more than anything and would treat both Ilya and Gabriel as if they were her own, and most importantly, that the most danger they were putting the two boys in by leaving them with his mother was a _Jeopardy!_ overdose.

Sydney had finally relented, agreed to relax and enjoy their mini-vacation, had tried to apologize for being so anxious, had wanted to explain that she didn't know what was wrong with her today, that with Ilya here, she had so much on her mind. But she hadn't gotten further than the first syllable of _sorry_ before he tore the word from her lips with his own, effectively wrenching the rest from within her, tugging her deeper within him so that they had both forgotten everything else, hadn't even been able to hear the crashing waves or the whisper of wind.

His mother's voice had startled them both, Sydney pulling quickly from him and lowering her head bashfully. But Vaughn only smiled, bringing his lips to her ear and whispering, "We've been caught," before pulling away and turning to face his mother.

"Oui, Maman?" he asked sweetly, his best dutiful-son smile lighting his face as he put his arm around Sydney and led her closer to where his mother and the children were waiting.

But Charlotte waved them off, nodding in the direction of the ocean. "It's supposed to rain later today. Why don't you go show Sydney the beach now?"

Sydney opened her mouth to protest, but Vaughn only had to tilt his head closer to hers and she swallowed her words, issuing new ones in their place. "Thanks, Charlotte. I'd like that."

"Have a good time, dear. And you both had better bring back your appetites. The boys and I will have lunch ready for you when you come back."

After a few lingering kisses on chubby little cheeks, and last-minute instructions, Sydney and Vaughn found themselves walking barefoot along the beach, fingers linked tightly. The murmurs of water and wind were all that was spoken until the Vaughn house was almost out of view.

"It's not supposed to rain, is it?" Sydney asked after a moment.

Vaughn could sense the soft hesitation in her voice, knew that doubt hadn't allowed them much time and was already beginning to creep up on her. He turned his face upward, letting the rays of sunlight warm him and glancing up at the cloudless, blue sky. He could try to convince her that his mother must have heard the weather report, must have known something about it that they did not, or…

"I don't think so." He couldn't remember giving his neck the signal to move, but there it was, turning of its own accord, lining up so his eyes had a perfect view of her profile. "But I think my mother knew I had something I wanted to show you."

Sydney didn't miss a beat, raising an eyebrow, the corners of her lips curling up in laughter. "She knows about the secret spot where you take all your girlfriends to 'watch the sunrise'?" Her free hand danced before them, making the quotation marks in the air, the other not bothering to move, not daring to leave his grasp.

"God, I hope not…" His teasing tone matched hers as he appeared to consider the horror of this predicament, but soon all the laughter tripped from his voice. His next words were quiet, and when she turned to face him, she found his cheeks just on the verge of blushing. "But I've never taken anyone here."

Her fingers pressed a little tighter against his with that, her head finding his shoulder as they slowly traipsed their way along the shore. He had left her without words once again, but she had grown used to it, yielded to speechlessness instead of struggling to tell him how she felt; one of the few times Sydney Bristow would ever give in without a fight.

"Vaughn," Sydney began again after a moment, a new seriousness in her voice as she lifted her head off his shoulder, "what do you think will happen to Ilya?"

The CIA hadn't been idle during their brief vacation; it just didn't appear as if there was anything to find. Whoever or whatever had terminated the child's grandmother had been careful not to leave many clues. The only piece of information that they had thus far been able to secure without much difficultly was the fact that the boy's paternal grandparents refused to even acknowledge his existence. As far as they were concerned, their son had died the moment he had run off with "that woman;" they saw no reason to resurrect his memory now.

"Honestly," Vaughn answered, turning slightly to catch a glimpse of her, in time to see her other hand come up and attempt to brush her wind-swept hair from her face. He knew that his first word was unnecessary, that they both knew he would never give her anything but an honest answer. "I don't know."

"It's already been three days…"

Three days with the four of them pretending that they all belonged; eating breakfast, lunch and dinner at the kitchen table; putting _their_ little boys to bed with kisses and lullabies; walking through the park and half-heartedly accepting the compliments of passersby about their "perfect little family"…

Three days where the little boy had once again wormed his way into their hearts, securing his place within them without much more than a breath. Toddling around one step behind them wherever they went, not letting them out of his sight; mumbling both of their names with botched perfection; appointing himself little Gabriel's protector and standing continual guard over the infant as if his life depended on it...

Three days that were already stretching out into four, that they simultaneously wanted and didn't want to extend. They wished it could be forever, that this fantasy life would blend into and become reality. But if it wasn't, if it couldn't be, if and when they had to give him back…

The longer he stayed, the harder it was going to be when they had to let him go.

"Syd…" Vaughn stopped, reaching to take her other hand in his own, tug her body so that it was flush against his, so that they were breathing the same breath and he could see through her eyes straight into her heart. "Let's…" He fumbled, paused, knowing what he wanted to say, but not able to get the words out. They stuck in his throat, were barely more than a whisper when he forced them forward. "Let's pretend this is a normal vacation."

Normal. It was really all she had ever wanted. A term that somehow seemed just out of her grasp at all times, even once she thought she had a firm hold on it. Slippery as the weeds at the bottom of a pond, faster than the little minnows, always able to slip through the chubby fingers of five year olds, swim just inches out of their reach…

And as much as she would love to believe that they were nothing more than a young couple that had taken their two small children to visit grandma, she knew that they could never…

"Syd?"

She smiled at the soft way he mumbled her name, barely loud enough to be heard over the waves, soaked with so much concern that all the oceans in the world would have been filled to overflowing. Leaning into him, letting his arms wrap around her, his body hold her up, and his scent become the very air she breathed, she sighed her answer into his chest. "Okay."

Vaughn let those two syllables wrap around him, her voice fill every corner of his being. For a moment, he simply stood there, holding Sydney in his arms, letting the world carry on without him. With anyone else, it would have quickly become tiresome; the weight in his arms and sighing silence wouldn't have been enough. But with her… there was a satisfaction that was inexplicable, that he swore he could hear and smell and taste. Something so intense that it almost scared him, that he almost didn't want to think about lest he overanalyze and rationalize it away.

His hand was still running lazy circles over her back a few moments later as her breathing began to steady, whisper against him in rhythm with the waves. He tilted his face downward to find where hers was hidden in the folds of his shirt. She felt his eyes on her even before his breath murmured in her ear, and her hand left his chest to brush against his cheek.

"Tired?"

It was almost a rhetorical question, one of the millions he would ask over his lifetime simply to hear the sweet sound of her voice in reply. Still adjusting to parenthood, they had both been tired before Ilya had arrived, but now that they had two small children to care for, the weariness seemed to have increased exponentially. Between Gabriel's nightly feedings and Ilya's nightmares, the shrieks of one waking the other…

"Mmm," she sighed into him, rubbing her face into his shirt like a sleepy child before pulling back a few inches. "But I'm okay."

"Think you can make it a little farther?" There was a hint of teasing laughter in his voice, but she knew that it was only for appearances; the concern snaking through it was nearly overpowering, had wound its way around each and every letter, almost squeezing any other emotion from existence.

Sydney parted her lips to respond, but found her mouth empty of anything that could have resembled coherent speech, could only nod in answer to his question. She let him lead her a little further down the water's edge, silence following them for a few more minutes until he came to a sudden, unexpected stop.

"This is it," Vaughn murmured, pulling her close. "This is where my dad used to take us in the summer, just before the sun went down. We went here almost every night I can remember, until…"

He felt her breath catch almost before he paused, knew that the pang that went through his own heart created a stabbing ache that was ten times stronger in her own, fueled by a sickening, uncontrollable guilt, one of the hurdles they still had to work their way past together.

The murmuring waves transformed into words, her soft voice finding its way to his ears. "You don't have to…"

"No, Syd…"

His voice was harsh with choked emotion, but his intended sweetness twisted its way through. Brushing his lips against her temple both in comfort and silent apology, he willed himself to shake all sadness from the moment. Later there would be time to bring sorrow back into the air, to open old wounds so they could be re-cleaned and checked for infection; but not now.

"My dad would always stop right at this spot," he continued, glancing at the ground and gently tugging her a few feet further, "pull my mother into his arms and start to dance."

He mimicked the actions as he spoke of them, as if he were incapable of stopping them, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Sydney rested her head on his shoulder, letting him slowly lead her to the sound of music that she foolishly thought wasn't there. But they were moving to a rhythm stronger than any other, that no one else on that beach would have been able to pick out with even the most acute sense of hearing; not to the tempo of the waves, but the tandem melody of their own heartbeats.

"I would laugh at them. Shout that they were silly, that there was no music, and run into the water."

His words vibrated softly in her hair, their dance leading them into the sea, neither noticing that Vaughn's pants were soaked almost to the knees or that the salt water was beginning to lap at Sydney's skirt; neither would have cared even if they had.

"I never got it. Even years afterwards. How they could dance without music, with people watching… and just not care…"

As he moved, his eyes forced themselves closed. He felt Sydney in his arms, knew she was beside him, within him… but suddenly neither of them were there… He was peering up from waist-height at his mother and father, the wrinkles and worry removed from both their faces, the last rays of light showing them nothing but each other.

_"You're getting wet! You're getting wet!"_

His own little voice chortled around them, but they didn't hear it. They didn't feel the drops of water that his six-year-old hands were splashing onto them, didn't notice the attention they were receiving from the other beach patrons, how their son's hands had found their way to his hips, his lower lip sticking out in a perfect pout.

_"Please, Maman! Papa! Everybody's watching…"_

He could remember his own little eyes darting around then, catching on the stares and smiles of the few who surrounded them, the man with the crooked tooth, the old couple hand in hand on the shore, the three teenagers further out in the water, focusing only on this unwanted attention and not understanding that nothing was wrong. His skinny arms pumped up and down, his legs running as fast as they could underwater, tripping over the waves as he scurried away, hurriedly dunking his head under and bobbing back up with his hands pointed into a fin.

_"I'm a shark! I'm a shark!"_

If his mother and father ever cared that their lives were in imminent danger due to this shark attack, he never knew it. Once he had pretended to drown to see if that would get their attention; it had, but it had also earned him a scolding when they had learned that he was kidding. He had had to sit, shivering, on the sand, and they had continued their dance as they always had, until after the sun went down…

Sydney stirred against him, gazing up to make sure that he was all right, that his silence was not cause for concern. Vaughn stopped moving then, smiling softly down at her and pulling just far enough away so he could look clearly into her eyes, drinking greedily from their chocolate depths.

"I never got it, Syd," he repeated, pausing, his voice unconsciously lowering to a decibel almost below the human capabilities of hearing, that the beating of their hearts could nearly drown out. "Until now…"

With just the right twist of tone, the right amount of faint sweetness, spoken in such a way that only he could manage, those few words encompassed thousands of others, capturing and trailing them in their wake so that none of the others were required. In a breath he had told her how much he wanted her, needed her, loved her; mumbled without the words, that one day, the two of them would stand on this very spot with Gabriel and Il…

"Vaughn…"

She was barely able to make it past the first letter of his name, her voice cracking, breaking and tripping over the rest of the sounds, letting them tumble softly into his chest as she buried her face in his shirt. But he didn't need her to finish, wouldn't let her hide. Tipping her chin upward as he had before, he caught her lips with his own, seizing the moment as if it would be his last.

He pulled away breathless, only because he couldn't bring himself to deprive her of air for a second longer, knowing she needed it, no matter how hard she tried to convince both of them otherwise. She cocked her head to the side as she caught her breath, squinting through the sunlight and the strands of her hair that the wind had blown into her face.

Sweeping the stray wisps behind her ear, he brushed his mouth against hers, pressing the few words he had managed to capture into her lips. "Syd, I…"

There were so many things he wanted to tell her, that he _needed_ tell her. He hadn't even stopped to think that the next five seconds, minutes, years, lifetimes wouldn't be enough to get even a fraction of them across. The feeling hit him with a rush, overwhelming, nearly terrifying in its intensity, the very thought that he could live his entire life and never even begin to relay to her…

_…These past few days… few months… few years that I've known… cherished… respected… adored… loved… Sydney, I… Being near you, with you… Seeing you in Gabriel's eyes… Our son, Sydney. Ours… Syd, I…_

Silken strings of thought that would snap the moment he thought he had a firm grasp on one, had gained the ability to at least tell her the tiniest portion of his thoughts and feelings. But even that proved impossible while they raced through his mind at a disturbing rate, banging and clanging one against the other until they progressed to a nearly steady ringing that for some reason was oddly familiar.

Sydney's expression had changed, her mouth moving, forming words that… "… should get that. It could be your mother."

Mechanically, he pulled his cell phone out of his pocket, turning it on and answering as if someone else held the strings that controlled his body, determined his every move, was projecting something that sounded like a strangled version of his voice. "Hello?"

Pausing and mouthing "your dad" to Sydney, he turned from her and attempted to move out of her grasp, not sure what Jack intended to relay and not wanting anything that might startle Sydney to… "Actually, we're at my… oh…"

Sydney watched him curiously, noticing how his forehead wrinkled just slightly, his grip on her hand tightened just enough to be considered barely noticeable. The conversation was hurried, not lasting more than thirty seconds and ending without a hint of a goodbye, a quick "Right away… I understand" standing in its place.

The slightest of pauses flitted through the salty air after he re-pocketed his phone. Just enough to tell her that his small smile and calm "We should probably go back" was a foiled attempt to hide the truth, knew that he would only ever do that to keep from hurting her…

"What's going on?"

He let her question stand for a handful of heartbeats, letting his eyes skip from her and dance along the horizon before finding their way back. "They need me to bring in Ilya."

"Vaughn," she began, her gaze quizzical, her voice warning, the question she had intended to repeat suddenly unnecessary, framed within that one syllable.

Running his hand slowly through his hair and ending on the back of his neck, the sun that had once been so cheerful and welcoming now glared nearly painfully off the furrows in his forehead. His impending words became superfluous the moment he threaded his trembling fingers through her own. His touch seemed to ignite something within her, sparking instinct with knowledge she suddenly wished she didn't have. When he spoke, his voice was almost too quiet to be heard over the waves and the suddenly intense beating of her heart, rushing the blood through her ears in torrents.

"They uncovered some intel concerning the terrorist cell and Devora Domaslavov. I don't know exactly what yet, but… Your father made it quite clear that letting Ilya out of our sight…" He paused, swallowing, speaking slowly both to gauge her reaction and because the words stuck in his throat, had to hiss their way out of him. "… could be deadly… They want him, Syd. And they don't care who gets in the way."


	9. Tailspin

Rhapsody

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**Raina**: Hopefully this is soon enough. ;-) Thanks for reviewing!

**Caz**: Your wish is my command and your reply is in the email. :-)

**Natalie**: Whoa… I'm not sure if I should be frightened by that, or…That's one tough policy. But at least it leaves open Jack and Weiss and… ;-) Thanks!

**valley-girl2**: Hmm, wisdom teeth… Yeah, your mouth will hurt and soon you'll be able to feel (and see) the tooth coming in. It's really not bad getting them out. Getting my braces tightened hurt worse. Of course, they didn't give me Vicodin for that, so… I can sympathize with your 'TOO' ordeal. I was just typing something out today and wanted to write 'beginning' and couldn't for the life of me make it look right. I finally had to type it into Word, and when no red squiggly came up, I figured I was okay. I felt like an idiot, but at least I had the right spelling… As always thank you so much for the effort you put into your reviews, the smilies, the quotes, the reactions… I love it.

Again, thank you so much to all of you who take the time to review. I love every single one of them. You are the ones who let me know that people are actually reading this; sometimes I wonder… :-) My muse kinda ran off with this chapter, so it's a bit long. You've been warned…

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Chapter 9: Tailspin

For half a second, the ocean waves seemed to slow down, had once crashed in time with Sydney's heartbeat, but now didn't ever stand a chance of catching up to the insane ten thousand miles a minute that each thump of her heart slammed against her chest. In that half-second, her world seemed to blur and collapse, blackening and withering even with the sun shining brightly overhead. An icy blast breathed goose bumps down the back of her neck, tingling her spine with cold, clammy sweat, and she swore that if she turned around, she would come face to face with death itself.

They say in moments like these that an entire lifetime can flash before your eyes in an instant, and they're not completely wrong. But Sydney did not see her entire life flicker behind her closed eyelids, only those moments that mattered, stemming and budding from the past few months in bright bursts of color and flashes of light, moving pictures with stumbling beginnings and fuzzy edges: Gabriel's toes wiggling while she gave him his bath, Vaughn's smile flitting its way through the dark of their bedroom, Ilya's bright red cheeks and haunted eyes as they had examined him that very first time…

Sights blended to become no more than colors, those colors drifting into sound. Strawberries were no longer something she and Vaughn had savored in the summer twilight, but a bright red emanating an unchained melody, their very own moonlit sonata coalescing with Vaughn's ever-reassuring whisper, Ilya stumbling over her name, and the very first cry that had ever left her son's lips… Some no more than blips or screeches that rushed into the next, a crazy quilt of stertorous half-seconds that didn't even last that long linked end to end, could play out a year's worth of music in a twinkling.

With this overwhelming bombardment of senses zipping pell-mell, tearing one into the other and still unable to decide which sensory organ to have the most jarring effect on, capturing them all at once and wreaking such havoc that Sydney's normally steadfast resolve weakened. All life and color drained from her face in an instant, so that Vaughn had to force air past his vocal chords and out his lips, whispering her name as he brought a hand to her shoulder to steady her slightly swaying body. She snapped to attention long enough for her eyes to meet his, to read the guilt and fear that shot back at her from his own, to brush off the thousand and one silent apologies that he tried to offer.

But she would never dream of blaming him, of ever blaming anyone but herself. A hundred failed missions could not have equaled the ravenous remorse and wretchedness that wafted over her in that moment, a thick, black liquid filling her lungs so that there was no room for air, leaving an acrid, noxious taste in her mouth so intense it was nearly impossible to ignore, almost sent her stomach heaving, retching its contents onto the shore.

The time it took for his eyes to flicker to hers was all that was required for Sydney to know that he felt the same way, that his own senses and emotions had run rampant, his thoughts quivering with _ifs_ and _mights_ and _could be's_. All those threatened to be overrun by a seething, treacherous anger; aimed at himself for putting those he loved within the limits of danger, at the unknown enemy, but never, in an entire universe of lifetimes, at her.

Before either of them could blink, he had communicated a million unspoken remarks, all understood and responded to as if they had actually been given breath. Sydney's fingers tightened on his, practically wringing all feeling from his hand, but giving the added reassurance and pressure necessary a moment later when she removed her hand from his. It was almost as if Vaughn had suddenly become completely in tune with her being and body, could feel her muscles tightening; and he knew the instant that her hand started to let go of his, that she was going to run.

The sand flew wildly around her feet, biting into her legs, her arms pumping so rapidly through the air that it wouldn't have required much more effort for her to take flight. Sydney had eventually worked her way at least partially back into her morning jogging routing, taking Gabriel in his stroller and making her way through the park. But she couldn't remember the last time she had actually run as if her life had depended on it, as if a hundred enemies were snapping at her heels, bullets and danger piercing the air just over her head. She thought that by now she would have forgotten how, wouldn't have been able to get up to the same speed she had before.

But even though he had seen it in her eyes, had known that she was going to flee almost before she had herself, Vaughn was pushed well to the edge of his sprinting capabilities to keep up with her. Only the thought of Gabriel and Ilya kept the air from completely incinerating his lungs and the muscles in his legs from turning to jelly, only because he resolved not to let Sydney's adrenaline push her out of his sight, that even the few feet she still held over him was too far.

The sight of blood haunted him, seeming to mutate out of the dark ocean water, terrorizing them both; its stench overpowering, like liquid death trickled drop by drop into their waiting nostrils. Just the thought that they could return to smoke, fire, utter destruction, chaos… was too dizzying to bear at the moment. But nothing, not the need to breathe, keep going in the right direction, or force one foot swiftly in front of the other, could shake the visions of peeled and burning skin; red, oozing flesh; the vacant stares that had once been so full of life, had been the center of their entire lives…

The back door, the closest visible entrance, was slammed open with shaking fingers. In her rush to enter the house, Sydney had almost plowed straight into and through it, fortunately remembering just in time that while her seemingly superhuman capabilities proved their mettle with _Running Like the Wind_, they abruptly ended at _Unharmed Forced Entry Through Screen Door._ She followed the sound of voices to the living room, nearly collapsed against the wall when she found Charlotte seated on the couch, Gabriel in her arms and Ilya at her side, with a photo album spread open before them.

"Mommy's home!" Charlotte exclaimed with a curious glance in Sydney's direction, adding, "And Daddy, too," when the screen door crashed open again and Vaughn appeared at Sydney's side, arms around her without a second thought as he tried desperately to catch his breath.

"I was just showing the boys some old pictures of their daddy," Charlotte continued. No one caught her slight mistake in identification, would have bothered to point it out if they had. "When am I going to be able to add some wedding photos to this album?"

If either of the other adults heard her, neither made a motion to respond. Sydney only paused for a quarter of an instant to revel in Vaughn's touch, to breathe in both his life and those before her, barely enough time to be registered with even the most hi-tech device, for the blink of an eye to begin its motion. But Vaughn felt it, knew that that split second was needed to recoil her strength, to gather her wits and her voice, to rein in the tears that were so precariously close to spilling over. He understood when she pulled away from his grasp, and was one step behind her when she flew forward, nearly scaring his mother as she all but yanked Gabriel from her hold.

Vaughn similarly lifted Ilya from Charlotte's side. The photo album fell to the floor with a clatter as he pulled the little boy to his chest and quickly arrived back at Sydney's side, kissing the top of his son's head and finding his fiancée's lips. Ilya carefully watched every move he made, close enough to Sydney to eagerly mimic his motions, placing his lips carefully against Gabriel's back and throwing his arms around Sydney's neck in order to offer her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

She couldn't help but smile at that, her heartbeat starting to return to normal, her breathing finally steady after nearly threatening to rip open her lungs. Only her voice had yet to return, the ever straggler of the group, and it took all her effort to coerce a few broken letters past her trembling lips, as her hand found its own way to the back of Vaughn's neck, pulling him so close that his forehead brushed against her own.

"Michael…"

If all the previous events hadn't been riddled with enough hints for poor Charlotte, that alone would have hurtled her into the hazy realm of _Something's Wrong_. She had spent a week in the home of her son and his fiancée, and the only time she had ever heard the other woman call her son by his first name was during one of the emotion-filled moments after they had named their own little boy.

"Is… is everything all right?" Charlotte stammered, rising from the couch and watching the group before warily, her ever-cheerful front beginning to crumble around the edges.

Vaughn pulled back a few inches, eyes still glued to Sydney's and not willing to move away so soon. She gazed back at him as if to apologize for a multitude of things that were not her fault: that she had let his mother talk her into coming over; that she had given birth to a child that was now part of their life of danger; that she had blindly disobeyed his orders, tiptoed through snow and wind to that sound in the bushes so many months ago…

With a gentle squeeze of Sydney's hand, he hadn't known or cared how his own fingers had found their way to hers, Vaughn compelled himself to break eye contact, to search out his mother and provide her with some kind of answer. "Maman, it's…"

"Michael Vaughn," Charlotte cut him off, almost before he had had a chance to begin, her gaze stern and voice as commanding as Sydney had ever heard it. "I never let you tell me anything but the truth while you were growing up; don't think that just because you no longer live under my roof, I'm going to let that change now."

Ordinarily, Sydney would have found this scolding amusing, would have saved its memory to tease Vaughn with later, so that the two of them could revel in the fact that they were proof that he _had_ to have been able to keep a few things from his mother over the years. But there was nothing humorous about it now, not when each second that ticked by only served to remind her of life that was lucky to be lived, that they had already stalled too long with their two boys in their arms and each instant was…

"No, Maman," Vaughn answered quietly. "Everything's not all right. We need to go back."

"I'm sorry," Sydney added, losing none of her genuine remorse with her quick delivery. Her words echoed off the walls, reverberating in his ears over and over again with more force each time, until she seemed to be practically screaming them directly at him.

A hush of no more than a second was enough for any normality that the situation had once possessed to slip though the minute holes in the back screen, all that was needed to alert Sydney and Vaughn to the fact that there was no part of this that was all right, that at the rate they were going, they would never be able to catch a break, never be able to…

"Don't apologize, dear," Charlotte replied, smiling so sweetly that only the two pairs of sharply trained eyes focused on her would have _ever_ been able to pick up the glimmer of sadness that skulked in the corners of her own eyes, the regret that she had let her son choose this life for himself. "There's nothing you could have done to prevent it. Now, it'll just take me half a second to pack up these sandwiches, and then you four can be on your way…"

They couldn't protest against half a second, not when the so many half seconds that had come before it had not proven fatal, when they were already unintentionally depriving the woman of so much. After their lunch had quickly been packed into a paper bag and they were on their way out the door, Charlotte suggested that they leave Gabriel with her for the weekend, teasingly pointing out that at least that way, they were assured to come back to visit her soon.

When Vaughn had originally gotten the phone call from Jack, he had thought that he would be returning alone, that there was no reason to ruin Sydney's vacation for something that had at first seemed so trivial; but it had only taken one glance into her eyes to tell him that she would be accompanying him, both back to LA and into the CIA building for whatever briefings he had to attend, that there was no way she would leave his side. He could see that Sydney wanted to protest against his mother's solution, didn't want to let the little boy out of her sight again for awhile. But looking at the sweet way their son snuggled into his grandmother's arms, neither of them could think of a safer place for him to be.

And so, on their way out to the car, they juggled the children from one to the other, both parents needing to hold and kiss their infant goodbye before passing him off to his grandmother. Ilya sat against Sydney's hip, his tiny arms wrapped languidly around her neck as he watched the proceedings; but he jumped to full alert when Charlotte said her goodbye to him and he noticed Gabriel lying in her arms.

As she stepped back from the car and Sydney was about to put Ilya into his car seat, the little boy struggled in her arms with more strength than he should have procured in his nearly two-and-a-half years of life. Surprised at his sudden change in behavior, Sydney had to back away from the car, holding him tightly to prevent escape or injury, Vaughn running to help her so that the child didn't fall to the ground.

"Ilya," Sydney proclaimed as she breathlessly tried to hold him, "what's…?"

"N-n-no!" he shouted, stuttering helplessly over the word and nearly losing his grip on it. But he won out in the end, forcing it past his lips, and almost causing Sydney to drop him. Ilya didn't seem to notice how close he had come to falling; he held out his arms and lunged in Gabriel's direction, uttering his newfound word once more and adding another, near tears this time. "No!… Babe!"

If the world could have stopped at that moment, told each and every one of its occupants to drop whatever they were doing and applaud, it would have. But the few exclamations of joy and surprise that surrounded little Ilya were enough, carrying themselves on the wind and snagging in the bushes fifty feet away, nearly catching on the nose of a sniper rifle that was already having a hard enough time training on a target that was being rocked gleefully back and forth.

They had known that their prey would come to America, had followed it to Los Angeles, easily pinpointing the Vaughn's apartment as its temporary place of residence. They had waited until now to take vengeance, assuming that the caretakers' guard would relax while on vacation, making a quick hit and run all too easy. Unfortunately, they had grossly underestimated the strength of Agents Bristow and Vaughn, and their window of opportunity was closing with frightening rapidity.

A few Russian words hissed from the scarred lips of one man to the ears of the one crouching with the gun, a shrug standing in place of what should have been a grumbled reply. The third was shorter, fatter, standing further out of the way and holding a wolfish dog by the collar, mumbling something to one of his taller companions and receiving a smack for his efforts. Fumbling wildly while he tried to quietly regain his balance, he stepped on his canine compatriot's hind paw, sending it into a fit of deep-throated snarls.

Almost too low to be heard as anything more than a rumble in the waves or wind, the dog's snarling traveled the same path that shouts of joy had moments before. _Almost_ too low, but not for one who had been haunted for weeks with that very same growling, ravenous howl, who had crouched in the frigid darkness listening to the snapping of jaws and grinding of angry teeth, counting the shots and the seconds until a chilled silence had frosted over, and…

Sydney froze, head whipping in the direction of the noise as she listened intently, hoping against hope that the nightmarish echo was only in her mind, a leftover edge of a dream she had thought she'd stopped having. Vaughn's concerned face turned towards her even before she held a hand out to him, grabbing onto his elbow.

"Syd?"

"Listen."

Her voice was a whisper, the usually sweet sound of it grating harshly in his ears with its deadly urgent tone. Almost too late, the bubble of memory burst before them, the very same one that had nearly floated away with the excitement of Ilya's speech. All at once the phone call, the heart-pounding fear they had felt on the shore, the slamming of running feet in sand and snow, the steady counting of bullets before a barrage of them had assaulted their ears, the seconds until it had been over… It all showered down on them like explosive confetti, a reminder that they were never without enemies, that in their line of work, whether they would admit to or decided to show it or not, there was not a moment without fear.

Vaughn wasn't sure whether he or Sydney spoke first or if either of them had at all; he didn't know who it was that told his mother to get with them into the car. Everything happened in a flurry of color, shapes and sound, as if objects carried no more meaning than that, stood for nothing further than his senses could pick up in the blistering heat of the moment.

Somehow, he found the passenger door handle and pushed his mother toward the front seat, the only time in his life he would ever lay a hand on her. With impressive rapidity, he opened Sydney's door and moved to help her inside, but she shook him off, shouted at him to get in and get them out of there. Brown sand and blue sky, the glint of sun shining off his vehicle's hood as he somehow found his way around it. Sydney must have stayed out to make sure his mother and Gabriel were secured in the car, and he wished to God that she hadn't, wished he could have turned back time and switched roles with her.

As he struggled to swallow the bile that the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach had forced into his throat, he knew that he should have been the one holding Ilya, wished that he had thought to wrestle the child from her arms, push them both into the backseat and apologize later for the bruises. Bruised flesh is less painful, heals quicker than when it has been ripped and torn, than when white-hot metal scrapes mercilessly against tender skin, surging a riptide of feeling to the core of the area, leaking a million different sensations, but all of them variations of the worst kind of pain.

Even with the silencer, they both heard the whir of the bullet as it traveled through the air. Vaughn wanted to run, jump over the car and dodge in front of Sydney, protect her from any and all harm, but everything happened in the blink of an eye, before he was able to take more than three steps in her direction. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sydney spin so that her back was toward the bushes and hold Ilya tightly against her chest; he heard her sharp gasp and then the ding of metal on metal as the rifle shot wedged itself into the side of their car. Vaughn froze; Sydney's rushing intake of air torturing his ears worse than a scream of pure agony.

He had been her partner on various missions, her backup waiting in the van on countless more where he would have been powerless to do anything to help her. What it felt like to hold his breath in those moments, see how long he could make it without air before he would hear her gasp in his ear, her voice whispering to his… was _nothing_ compared to the gut-slicing pain of watching, being less than ten feet away and still not finding it within his power to prevent even the slightest scratch or bruise. His body was shutting down, anger curling around the edges of fear and inflaming his entire being, soldering him in place so that it would be impossible to move even if he…

"Vaughn!"

Sydney's voice calling his name was the only auditory cue capable of bringing him back to life, all that could melt the chains that had somehow tied him to the ground. She had glanced up just before disappearing with Ilya into the backseat of the car, willingly risking her life by staying out to rescue his, knowing that she would be nothing without him by her side.

Vaughn started at the sound of her voice, meeting her eyes across the roof of the car for the tiniest fraction of a second, needing to satisfy himself with the spark of life that still glinted within them. The wave of emotion that washed over him at the mere sight of her nearly sent him sprawling; but he held himself up, and, as if they had been synchronized, they both ducked into the vehicle. He had the key in the ignition and was speeding down the driveway even before their doors were closed, immediately launched into Mission Mode, able to take on the world now that he knew she was still breathing, would have somehow found a way to suck every particle air from his own lungs and offer it to her if it had been at all possible, would have sacrificed his life for hers in half a heartbeat.

Almost hitting his mother's mailbox and leaving tire tracks in the neighbors garden, Vaughn nearly quadrupled the speed limit of the dusty, normally quiet road, swiftly losing the vicious dog that had appeared out of nowhere to chase their car down the driveway, and only catching a glimpse of three dark figures in his rearview mirror.

No one moved or spoke until they had driven for at least ten minutes, curving in and out of streets that they otherwise wouldn't have driven on, taking detours and sharp turns as often as possible. It wasn't until they had skirted around the entrance ramp a few times that both Vaughn and Sydney were absolutely sure they were not being followed, and he drove steadily onto the highway, letting a shaking breath of air rush forth from his lings. Only then would Sydney dare to let Ilya out of her firm hold, buckling him into his car seat with trembling fingers and reaching to the front to take Gabriel from Charlotte.

"Sydney, dear," Charlotte whispered, her voice sounding odd, almost strangled after the altercation and following silence, "you're bleeding."

Vaughn nearly turned his body completely around in order to get a good look at her, decided last minute that glancing in the rearview mirror would be a better option, his eyes finding the trickle of blood that had already made its way down Sydney's arm before she could quickly cover it with her other hand. He had seen her with wounds that were worse; she had come back from missions numerous times with injuries that were near life-threatening, that she somehow always seemed able to bounce back from. He didn't know why this wound, barely a scratch from a bullet, they both knew that, seemed so much worse in his eyes.

Maybe it was because his mother had been there to witness it, had been the one to answer the door so many years ago and listen when the CIA agents told her of the death of her husband, and had just watched her son's, her grandson's, her own life flash before her eyes. Maybe it had something to do with the two little boys that were in their hearts and arms, one his very own flesh and blood, his own son who he would do anything to protect; the other loved just as fiercely, even though he had once lived half a world away. Maybe it was because he had been there himself, had been utterly powerless to protect any of them…

Whether it was solely one of those reasons or a tricky combination of those and so many more, Vaughn couldn't decide. He had to gulp down the biting anger that was bubbling its way to his face, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel as he saw Sydney's covered in the sticky crimson of her own blood when she brought her hand away, finally daring to meet Vaughn's eyes in the mirror. Battle ensued within him, reason versus emotion in a fight to the death, and it took all the common sense he had to keep his foot on the gas pedal, to not pull over and convince himself that she was okay.

"I'm fine," Sydney murmured in answer to the question he had never voiced. "It just nicked me."

She couldn't describe the glaze that clouded Vaughn's eyes at that moment. A swell of concern blended with the familiar mixture of fear and sadness that she had seen so many times before. But this time, there was something different, the sadness tinged with a hue bordering on betrayal and seeping into fury, as he wondered how he could let her convince him of that, when the very fact that her blood had started dripping back down over where she had wiped it away was all the proof he needed to tell him otherwise. How he could hear her words, let her speak assurance with her eyes, and simply concede and drive on, tell his mother that…

"There's a first aid kit in the glove box."

Perhaps the answer could be found in that very kit itself. Most would be lucky to find a few band-aids and napkins from drive-thru restaurants lingering in their glove compartments. But Michael Vaughn had an arsenal, complete with various creams, bandage sizes, gauze, and even a few anti-toxins that he had been able to legally obtain not as a citizen of the United States, but as a Central Intelligence Agent of that country. It was a box very similar to the one he had opened himself countless times in the back of their government-issued van, not knowing that the very touch of his fingers was doing more to heal her wounds than any medication or bandage ever could.

While Sydney did her best to clean herself up, Vaughn took out his cell phone and carefully and pointedly relayed what had happened, fighting not to dwell overly much on the occurrences, to let the freshness of the memory fuel the fire of his anger. Once he had finished and Gabriel had been passed into the backseat, they continued on in utter silence. Not a word was spoken as the miles crawled by, until both Sydney and Vaughn had thought that Charlotte had joined the two little boys in their slumber.

"Vaughn," Sydney whispered, the word nearing a whimper as she fought to control her voice. "I'm…"

"Don't," he interrupted just as quietly, eyes flashing in the rearview mirror as his right hand snaked its way to the backseat and found hers, grasping it tightly. As many times as she had tried to offer it, there was no way he was going to accept an apology. "Syd, I…"

There was no ringing telephone or honking horn to cut off his words this time, but they still trailed off of their own accord, no doubt used to interruptions and losing themselves on the way to his lips, catching on the emotion suddenly tangled in his throat. Her hand tightened in his to the point where it should have been painful, but wasn't tight enough, her voice somehow tripping its way to his ears.

"I know."

It would have been considered pitiful to those well-versed in the art of spoken conversation, but with those four syllables, they spoke of love, longing, guilt, sadness, fear, and a multitude of other emotions that didn't yet have names. Silence found its way inside the vehicle again, and eventually Vaughn was forced to extricate his hand from hers and return it to the steering wheel, the strange angle well past starting to burn a dull ache within his shoulder. Neither of them noticed Charlotte's small smile, ever knew that anyone had shared in that moment but the two of them.

When they finally reached the CIA parking garage, Vaughn carefully unfastened Gabriel from his car seat, probably faster than he ever had before, needing to see for himself that the boy's mother was all right. Quickly kissing his son before handing him off to his own mother, Vaughn gingerly helped Sydney over the empty seat, unwrapping the gauze she had managed to secure around her arm and checking her wound before letting her step even a foot away from the car.

"I'm fine," she mumbled softly, her body betraying her words, not a muscle moving to protest his ministrations or pull away from them.

The bullet had just grazed her; in a few weeks, it would be nothing more than another faded scar to add to the dozens of others that speckled her skin. In the beginning, he had spent hours memorizing each and every one: knife fight in Bergen three years ago, metal pipe in Sana'a a few months before that, falling off the swings at the playground when she was five years old, slammed against the concrete in Port-au-Prince days after finishing agent training…

She had never forgotten even one, and neither had he; he made sure of it. The wounds themselves healed without a hitch, it was the woman beneath them he was more afraid of harming, had wondered nights, when he held her in his arms, how she had escaped so relatively unscathed thus far, how she was able to force her eyes open, to drag herself out of bed each morning.

"Vaughn, I…"

"I know."

No matter what happened to her, whether a knife, a bullet, a rusted pipe or the swings, she always held strong, managed to persuade the world that she was all right even when she hadn't yet convinced herself. Vaughn stopped examining her arm for a moment, eyes peering up and quickly finding hers. Straightening, he kissed her softly, always reveling in her taste as if each time would be his last, days like this magnifying that fear a thousand times in grim black and white, the reality of it startlingly apparent through the bleakness.

Reaching past her and into the car, he extracted the first aid kit, pausing long enough to offer Ilya a reassuring smile before opening the box and finding the supplies he needed. Gently rejecting his mother's offer to help, he tenderly wrapped Sydney's arm in clean gauze, knowing that although his mother had worked wonders back in his playground days, this was something he needed to do himself. In their line of work, it was impossible for him to even try to protect Sydney from everything; but it only served to make these moments more precious, what little he _could_ do for her almost but not quite outweighing all the pain.

Sydney offered herself to him willingly, hypnotized by his careful and delicate attention. Even the slight brush of his fingers against her skin stirred a nearly asphyxiating rush of emotion within her, the likes of which still frightened her; how even the smallest whisper or promise of his touch could send her spinning into orbit, reeling into a world where only the two of them existed, and… Wincing slightly as he secured the bandage and quickly snapping to attention, she found a worried apology already waiting in his eyes.

"Better?" Vaughn murmured, his fingertips still dancing gently down the skin of her arm, acting of their own accord, unable to break contact with her.

"Much," she whispered, knowing that the garage was monitored, that his mother was right there, that even though they were in the safety of the CIA building, each second could only put them all in more danger… and still having to wrestle with herself _not_ to lean into his touch. "Thanks."

His smile was her only response, but it was all that she ever needed. Returning the first aid kit to the backseat, Vaughn stopped to kiss his mother and brush his fingers against Gabriel's cheek, as if realizing for the first time that Sydney was not all he could have lost that day. He didn't know, didn't even want to consider what he would have done if his mother or his own little boy had been hurt in any way. The mere thought of it shot like a cannon straight through his heart. Gabriel wriggled in Charlotte's arms, wildly flailing his hands as he tried to catch his father's finger. To think that he could have lost all that…

"It's okay, Michael."

It was his mother's voice softly reaching his ears; Sydney's fingers pressing into his shoulder in a silent proclamation. He glanced up to meet his mother's eyes, and even after all that had happened that day, she was still able to offer him a smile, to give her own child what little comfort she could when he was too old, too big, to climb into her lap and cry.

Her next words were simple, but she was able to spin them like straw into gold. It was the voice he remembered from when she used to make him kneel down next to her beside his bed, his pajama-covered feet tapping impatiently against the floor as they whispered his prayers, and moments later, after she had tucked him into bed, singing the very same lullaby he used for his own son today. The way she spoke, it was as if he were four years old again, and she was reading the last page of his bedtime story, her voice hushed as it always had been when she got close to the end.

"Five hearts are still beating… We're all okay."

And just like her special tea and honey, her words helped. But only for a moment. He had seen too much of the world to be so easily comforted, no longer believed that the picture books she had read to him were true. Sydney's arm was still bandaged. When he went to get Ilya out of the car, he would see the dent the bullet had made, could be thankful that the metal had taken the brunt of the impact instead of the beautiful woman who was standing by his side. Words didn't change the fact that they were standing in the CIA parking garage on his day off. And he still could have lost all of them: his mother, his love, his son, Ilya…

But Vaughn swallowed those thoughts, offering his mother a mirror of her own smile as he walked around the car and unbuckled Ilya. He ruffled the child's hair and couldn't help but grin as the little boy searched earnestly for Gabriel before resting his head on Vaughn's shoulder. He hadn't spoken a word since shouting his pseudo-brother's name, seemed to know that he was the cause of all the trouble, the reason that both they and happiness had fled from the beach so quickly. Vaughn wished there was something he could say or do that would magically make everything better, take away all of the little boy's worries and fears; knew that all the words and actions in the world would not suffice to erase what the poor child had been through.

Sydney watched Vaughn carefully as he carried Ilya around the car toward them, seemed to sense that there was still something amiss about him, that his mother's words had soothed him momentarily, but he hadn't taken them to heart. He caught her concerned gaze and tried to brush it off as he took her hand and squeezed it lightly, not giving in when she tried to take Ilya from him, merely kissing her knuckles in response and leading their little group inside.

The five of them had barely made their way into the building when they ran into a veritable thundercloud wearing a suit and tie: one Jack Bristow who did not seem at all thrilled with the recent turn of events. "Surveillance logged you as driving in almost ten minutes ago," he stated, letting that serve as his greeting to Sydney and Vaughn, but at least having the courtesy to nod in Charlotte's direction. "Is everything all right?"

"We're fine, Dad," Sydney replied, taking a step forward to answer for them, but not relinquishing her grip on Vaughn's hand. Somewhere in between her last brush with death and this recent escapade, she had completely given up caring about decorum and protocol, had begun sweeping the rules out the window long ago. "At least we are now."

"Have you identified who was after us?" Vaughn asked, his voice not sounding like his own, nowhere near to matching the tender whisper Sydney had heard just moments earlier, as he quickly stepped forward and fired another question at Jack, "Where are they now?"

But if Jack heard either question, he made no motion to acknowledge it, instead bringing a hand to Sydney's elbow and lifting her arm. "Are you all right?" he asked, most of the warmth leaving his voice as he turned to Vaughn, eyes narrowing. "You didn't say anything about this over the phone."

Vaughn swallowed visibly, his jaw setting as Sydney's simultaneous squeezing of his fingers matched the pressure of his mother's hand on his back. That was all that could keep the harsh words from springing to his mouth, that could rein in the red-hot passion galloping full force from every pore in his body. "We…"

"I asked him not to, Dad," Sydney quickly cut him off, loathing the lie even as it left her lips but finding it a small price to pay if it would bring a rapid end to the tension, stop whatever seemed to be brewing itself between the two men in her life, those who would do anything to protect her, even war against each other. "It's nothing really. Please."

Jack conceded, nearly as powerless as Vaughn when it came to her soft tone, those dark, pleading eyes. He led them inside, speaking politely to Charlotte; something about apologizing for the circumstances of the visit and Vaughn's office, but Vaughn didn't hear a word. It was too hard to focus on speech when all he could feel was the weight of Ilya in his arms, the pressure of Sydney's fingers intertwined with his own. Both of which he might have lost if that single bullet had gone a few inches in a different direction. Both of them and so much more…

"Have you been able to track whoever was after us?" Vaughn interrupted, repeating his earlier question with greater force and impatience. The long drive back to LA had nearly killed him. The enemy could have reared its ugly head around any corner, and he had only had a single weapon hidden away in his glove compartment, hadn't been prepared for the ambush. Now that they were finally in Headquarters, had the power and capability to seek and destroy…

"I think it's advisable if you wait for a formal briefing, before…"

"Come on, Jack," Vaughn cut in, startling Ilya with the strength in his tone. "It's a simple question. Have you tracked them?"

"No."

"No?!" Vaughn's shouted question made Ilya whimper, the little boy hiding his face in Vaughn's shirt in an attempt to escape the anger. "How could you have…?!"

"Perhaps if you hadn't waited until ten minutes after the fact to call…"

"What was I _supposed_ to do?! We were…"

Their words clamored together now, neither able to finish a sentence before the other would shoot out half an answer, all words lost in the fray, ripped to shreds and barely understandable. The two agents had gotten along surprisingly well in the past few months, Jack having seemed finally willing to accept Vaughn as a suitable match for his daughter. Their last altercation had been well before Gabriel had even been born. But the increasing strain of the past few days and the sudden explosion of danger…

"Dad! Vaughn!"

Sydney's voice was magic, sounding over the two men's own tones and silencing them immediately. Her hand tightened on Vaughn's to the point where it actually _was_ painful, drawing him away from the monster of ire and pulling him back to himself, her other arm held out gingerly to her father, begging him to stop. There were no apologies, was barely a pause long enough to take a breath.

Anger snapped its jaws menacingly, trying to lure Vaughn back into the bloody grip of its fangs. It was oddly enticing, glimmering with the promise of unleashed fury and the sudden, volatile release of tension. But Vaughn stayed just a claw's reach out of its grasp, the whispering touch of Sydney's thumb brushing circles over his hand, the warmth of her body next to his, so close that the skin of her arm grazed against his own... Those sensations were more powerful than any evil emotion, enlisted the brute force and ammunition of all the feelings associated with love. When he spoke, his words were slow and controlled, contrasting strangely with his earlier force, nearly smothered on their way out of his throat.

"They came after _my family_, Jack."

It served as both an explanation and an apology. Ordinarily, he would have won with such a baring statement; anyone else would have had to bow down to the ties of love and blood, given in to the fact that there was nothing stronger. Only Jack Bristow would have ever been able to counter it. His own words were just as soft, spoken a few moments after Vaughn's, the time needed both to collect them and to gather the strength needed to give them voice.

"Mine too, Michael... Mine too."


	10. Incubus

Rhapsody

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**Raina**: Haha… I'm glad you're happy, and thanks so much for reviewing… I meant to have this one up sooner, but my little brother had to get stitches on the bottom of his foot, and I had to play nurse for a few days and help him hobble around…

**Natalie**: Hmm. It _would_ be interesting to see Syd's reaction if Jack died… Of course, somebody somewhere else told me that it would be interesting to see what happened if Vaughn died… or maybe it was Syd… I can't remember, but either way, it would go against your policy, now, wouldn't it? ;-) Thanks so much for taking the time to review!

**valley-girl2**: My first orthodontist was also my dentist. I went in for my cleaning and he decided that it would be a good idea to put on braces. And then during one of the 2-hour appointments when he was supposed to be tightening my wires, and sometime in between losing one of the brackets and accidentally breaking off the metal that goes around my molars, he cut himself, tore the glove and was bleeding. And didn't think it would be a good idea to clean himself or get new gloves before going back to work in my mouth. Needless to say, we do not go there anymore… Sorry for the long-winded story. I'm still just a _tad_ bitter… Haha! You had quite the dinner ordeal. I'm glad you were able to finish… Your last paragraph completely cracked me up. If I had done that, I would have laughed and taken it out. Thank you _so_ much for leaving it in there. It made my night… And of course, thank you for the lovely review. _You_ rock!

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Chapter 10: Incubus

If someone had approached Vaughn when he had first started working for that CIA and told him that he would one day not only count Jack Bristow among the members of his family, but be proud to do so, he probably would have stared blankly or tried to cover his surprise with a feigned coughing fit. Later it might have been amusing, and he and Weiss would have employed it as the entertainment needed to wash down their beers for countless evenings. Either that, or he would have cried. Incessantly and alone.

But laughter and tears were no longer alternatives, and neither was pretending that Jack's words were not true. Vaughn wouldn't have wanted to. Not when he had become so accustomed to, so in _need_ of Sydney that his every sense clamored for her attention both night and day, and he could no longer remember what it had ever been to live without her. His younger self would have been shocked, but too naïve to understand, wouldn't have yet reached that October day which had turned his life upside-down, oddly changing it for the better.

It had been almost overwhelming at first. With the addition of Sydney, nothing in his life had been untouched. Mere happiness and sadness were no longer options: her slightest smile sung the hallelujah chorus; the sheer hint of a frown could send his world crumbling; even satisfaction, a seemingly neutral emotion before, had increased tenfold and been multiplied by infinity. He would have thought that such an intense influx of emotion would have been enough to induce a migraine or nosebleed even on his strongest of days; but that was the magic of it. With Sydney, a full-fledged bombardment of everything he was capable of feeling would never be enough.

They had trespassed into the territory of danger, crushed the odds, and obliterated every rule that authority had set between them; and he would do it all again a thousand times over, even with Jack hissing down the back of his neck like an angry python.

But Jack Bristow was as much a part of Sydney as her dimples, her favorite t-shirt, or that nervous habit she had of smoothing her hair back behind her ear. Even without the respect that Jack had come to earn from him, that alone would have made him a worthy family member in Vaughn's eyes. Oh, how his younger self would laugh…

As unlikely a group as the six of them posed: three agents from two generations, a widow whose husband had been killed by the wife of the very man standing before her, and two little boys from entirely separate continents; they were more tightly connected than any family that at that very moment, might have been sitting on the porch of their picket fence-enclosed home, sipping lemonade and sharing daily stories of school, work, the LA gridlock, or the seeming inability of their children to make their beds each morning.

They were bound one to the other with strings so fine that they must have once been plucked by the fingers of angels to generate the sweet strains of the heavens, a harmony of blood ties interwoven with the even stronger melody of love. A gossamer web that somehow held all six together, threatening to snap at any moment with only the slightest amount of pressure against the razor-sharp edges of danger and absurdity, but somehow held strong. It was the feel of Ilya calming, his little fingers playing against Vaughn's neck; the hum of Gabriel's cooing sigh just behind him; and the glimmer he caught in Sydney's eye out of the corner of his own.

He managed to pull himself together enough to nod in Jack's direction, his lips curving upwards in a smile of gratitude and understanding. Then Sydney's hand was tugging at his own and his feet marched him down the hallway along with the rest of the group, stopping just in time to prevent a collision with Jack as they came to an abrupt halt in front of Vaughn's office.

"Sydney, it would probably be a good idea if you and Mrs. Vaughn…"

"Charlotte, Jack. Please."

Although Vaughn had heard Jack's words and was somehow able to comprehend them in the dank recesses of his mind, it was his mother's words that jolted him fully back to the present, her utter calmness surprising him. He wondered, for the first time in his life, exactly what she had experienced while his father was working for the CIA; if she had seen and somehow become accustomed to this outrageous aspect of his life or was simply able to remain cool under all amounts of stress.

"Charlotte," Jack nodded in apology. "It would be better if you both waited here with the children, while Vaughn and I…"

"No, Dad," Sydney interrupted, as Vaughn had known she would the moment he caught the gist of what Jack was saying. "I'm coming with you. Whatever it is, I want to hear it."

Her hand tightened on his with frustration. They had only recently started discussing her return to work, the conversation springing up one night when she had quietly confessed to him that she felt helpless and out of the loop, as if there were so many things she could have accomplished in that time she spent at home. Vaughn had tried to assure her that she wasn't wasting her time, that he had told her absolutely everything and would continue to do so, that Gabriel needed her more at the moment than the CIA did.

"I can keep an eye on the boys, Jack," Charlotte offered, cradling Gabriel in her arms and glancing in Ilya's direction. "We get along fine without Mommy and Daddy, don't we?"

Had he been given complete freedom of choice, Vaughn would have helped Sydney's father in convincing her to stay in his office, or, better yet, escorted her immediately down to medical services. He could see that her arm was hurting her, the pain lurking in her eyes somewhere behind her stubborn resolve, but not entirely lost in its shadow. It was that same resolve, however, that he had seen when Sydney had arrived in the bloodmobile for their first meeting, so sure that they were going to take down SD-6 without more than a few well-placed punches. It was the exact strength of mind that had glimmered every time he had been her partner on a mission; and even at moments during those three and a half weeks after he had first kissed her and the seeming deception of their relationship had become too much for the both of them, but she would somehow remain strong…

There was no way he could deny her this chance, the opportunity to hear firsthand information about the little boy they were so treacherously close to referring to as their own son.

"She's coming, Jack." _Because I refuse to let go of her hand…_ It was an afterthought, whispered from his heart to his mind, and heard by no one, not even Sydney and barely himself. But perhaps it really was the reason after all.

When Charlotte and the boys had been settled into Vaughn's office and an unfortunate Junior Agent Mraz had chosen that moment to walk by, thereby automatically volunteering his services to help her "just as a precautionary measure," as Jack had put it, the three agents made their way down to the briefing room.

"Hey!" a familiar voice called out as they were just steps away from the door. Sydney and Vaughn turned towards it, letting Jack continue into the room. "I heard that…" Weiss paused to catch his breath, his quick jog up to his friends easily winding him. In that moment, his eyes snagged on the gauze on Sydney's arm and filled with concern. "Syd, they didn't tell me you…"

"I'm fine," she answered quickly, offering Weiss a smile that quickly disappeared, as he unintentionally tugged at her arm to get a closer look.

Sydney had had more than enough experience with the various forms of torture to qualify her as an absolute genius when it came to concealing pain. Her movement was so slight and the smile slid so naturally from her face that only Vaughn caught the twinge that flared across her features. "Maybe it's a good idea if we go down to Med…"

"No," Sydney interrupted softly, warningly, her eyes managing to give him _the look_ and beg for his understanding at the same time.

He granted her the latter without a second thought, nodding and forcing his own eyes to steer clear of her wounded arm before his common sense could get the better of him. His arm snaked around her waist instinctively and he led her into the room, leaving Weiss to trip in behind them.

Jack stood at the head of the table, already poised with the projector remote in his hand. His greeting of "Devlin named me director of this operation," was met with nothing more than silence and the accusing glare Weiss shot in young Agent Lee's direction; she was seated as far from Jack as possible, leaving Weiss the chair next to the newly named director so that Sydney and Vaughn could sit together on the opposite side of the table.

"Adrick Bykov," Jack began, flashing a picture on the screen the moment Vaughn had helped Sydney into her seat.

Vaughn scrambled to his own chair and stared at the image, intent on memorizing every feature on Bykov's face, processing the scar that slashed from his left cheekbone straight through his sneering lips, wanting to know the exact placement of every mole, every hair so that he would recognize this man in the presence or absence of light, no matter how he might try to disguise himself, or…

"… leader of a loosely banded group of rogue government officials and destitute Russian workers. While any long-term goals are still unclear, their current objective is…"

"Ilya," Sydney interrupted knowingly, and even though Vaughn was inches away from touching her, inches that seemed to stretch into miles, he could feel her stiffen at his side. "He's two and a half year's old…"

"What could he possibly have that Bykov might want?" Vaughn finished for her. "Or _do_ that…"

"Bloodties to Devora Domaslavov," Jack cut in, answering his first question and quickly continuing before anyone could further disrupt him. "Bykov did not murder her himself, but sent his two henchmen, Ioakim and Sacha Yudin."

Bykov's image dissolved into a side-by-side display of the two men, the one on the right standing tall and stone-faced, while a hint of a smile tried to force its way through his shorter, chubbier counterpart's façade.

"Brothers. Ioakim's on the right, older by almost ten years and by far the more useful in Bykov's operation. His blood was found on shards of glass from a window broken the night of Domaslavov's murder, apparently their only means of escape when one of her neighbors became a little too... curious. You said there were three attackers today, and these are more than likely the three men who…"

"And the dog," Weiss interjected, pointing to Jack and ignoring his sigh of impatience, momentarily forgetting his relative proximity to the man. "That's Bykov's thing, dogs. Trained attack machines. He's got at least twenty-three, by the latest count, but if you only saw one, it's probably Kisa, his favorite; name means 'kitten' if I translated it right, but…"

"Wait," Sydney commanded, shaking her head and stopping Weiss' voice with her raised hand. "Bykov still wants to exact revenge for the files we found in Ilya's jacket? It's been what, eight months?"

"In a way, yes," Jack answered. "But it's more complicated than that. If Bykov had solely wanted retribution for the files, he would have been finished after he had murdered Katja Domaslavov and her group in the snow. We made a critical error in giving Ilya over to his grandmother's custody; Devora Domaslavov covers her tracks well."

At the words 'critical error' Vaughn's stomach began to churn, as if a vicious tangle had snarled itself within him and was waiting to be released, to spread into the rest of his system and light every cell with its angry fire. He couldn't see her from the way he had positioned himself, waiting for the slide he knew would flash upon the screen, but he sensed Sydney freeze behind him, unconsciously slid his chair in her direction, not even aware of the scraping sound it made as it crossed the floor or the three pairs of eyes that shot in his direction.

Without warning, the Yudin brothers transformed into a close-up of a woman so dangerous-looking that there was no way even the worst of parents would let any child within her vicinity. It couldn't have been the same woman who had charmed them with her story and tears, that they had given Ilya to with thanks and well wishes, but…

A folder was suddenly in his hands, and Vaughn glanced up just in time to see Jack take his hand away from it. "There you will find a list of her known aliases. As far as we know, Domaslavov is her legal, married name, and she has only started referring to herself by it…"

Vaughn turned and handed the folder to Sydney, but having already scanned the list over his shoulder, she slid it away, straightening in her seat and smoothing her hair behind her ear. Vaughn tried to catch her eye, but she stared callously up at the screen, and his sudden inability to connect with her, to read her feelings and know that her thoughts were in tune with his own overwhelmed his bubbling anger with a cooling concern and a hiss of fear.

"… she has worked very closely with Bykov, to the point where they were almost seen as partners of his organization. Their latest major undertaking was to obtain the files that we now have in our possession. During this time, Domaslavov had been operating behind Bykov's back, working through channels to provide Family United with the intel that spurred them to their first and last significant endeavor. We're still looking into her motives for this route of operation."

How they could have been so blind, how they could _have_ all this information now but have missed it completely just a few months ago; how they had given little Ilya to a woman who very well might have killed him, and… There were a thousand questions vying for the chance at an answer, all of them fluttering just out of reach of Vaughn's comprehension at the moment, their wings flapping frantically, serving to fan his flaming ire.

"But this Bykov guy," Weiss added, his voice cutting through the thick silence after he had actually made sure Jack was finished, "means business. At least eleven murders in remote areas of the Federation have been linked to him, without enough interest or evidence to follow through with an investigation. He's sneaky about it and holds one hell of a grudge. There are people who say they won't even let their goats graze where…"

Somewhere in between the seething anger, the flood of denial and the thin veil of disbelief, Vaughn caught the tiniest glimpse of Sydney out of the corner of his eye, saw her push her chair out from the table and shakily stand. He almost grabbed her arm to halt her hasty retreat, the blinding white of the gauze flashing into his field of vision just seconds before his fingers would have closed around her flesh.

Fortunately, Jack was one step ahead of him, his commanding tone calling out her name in such a way that she couldn't help but listen. "Sydney. Wait."

Vaughn thought that she would have kept going, but she stopped as quickly as if she had been a little girl, and spun slowly around, waiting for her father to continue. Daring him to say something to make all of this better, she silently pleaded with him to find that magic he had possessed when she was four years old and the simplest word or caress could heal the worst of her wounds.

"I asked Agent Lee to stay for this briefing so that she could fill you in on the status of Ilya's family." Jack nodded towards the younger agent, and she rose quickly from her chair.

"It's nothing you don't already know, really," Agent Lee began, her cheeks coloring when she realized all eyes were on her. "DNA confirmation has come back naming Akim Kavalek as the biological father, but despite our best efforts, the Kavalek family refuses to have anything to do with him. He has no remaining maternal relatives, and…" She fingered her carefully compiled note cards: dates of birth, death; names of every relative and where they lived, even close friends of the boy's deceased parents who might be willing to take the child in as their own. All pertinent information in the eyes of the higher-ups and worthy of report at any other time… "And that's basically it."

Sydney didn't wait for another word before turning and flying from the room, not even pausing to allow Vaughn the time to fully extricate himself from the chair he had somehow become hopelessly tangled in, his legs and arms refusing to work as they should have. But he pulled himself together, ignoring Weiss' sympathetic gaze and leaving the room before his friend could mutter anything about women and their tempers.

"Syd, wait…"

He wasn't even sure if he had spoken the words aloud, certainly wasn't able to hear them himself. But Sydney slowed and stumbled to a halt, allowing him to catch up to and step in front of her. She slumped against the wall so quickly and naturally that for a moment he thought she had fainted; should have known better, should have realized that it would have taken much more than the news of their own naïveté and a woman's betrayal to render Sydney Bristow unconscious.

Her hand came up to steady herself as she leaned against the wall. She wouldn't meet his eyes, her own finding an invisible speck on the wall and locking there, concentrating so much force, pain and anger into those few millimeters that he thought he saw the paint begin to bubble; knew it was a trick of the imagination as her words washed over him, advancing so softly and slowly from her lips that each one seemed it's own separate statement.

"I put him into her arms..."

The utter desolation undulating through her tone ripped at his insides, shredding every part of his body that was in any way able to feel. A barely controlled fury whirred around her, snatching at her voice and causing it to break, sparking from deep within her eyes. Her words were whispered only to keep her from shouting, to keep the scorching inner frustration from exploding into a fireball of passion, igniting her entire being as he had seen it do so many times before.

"Syd…"

He said her name in that gentle, nearly-impossible-to-ignore way that would have normally cleaved her from the vice-grip of any emotion and pulled her eyes to his own. But it didn't work here; she wouldn't give in so easily, was stirred by a higher form of self-loathing than he had ever seen in her before, greater than with any failed mission before SD-6's takedown. There was so much more at stake when a child was involved, when they had a child of their own.

"... I smiled at her… wished her _luck_…"

Her tone was dripping with disgust, saturated so thoroughly that her last word nearly drowned in the tidal wave. He let her continue without interruption, permitted the pauses that frustration choked from within her to stand in silence. Sydney had managed to keep cool longer than he had, had held back her anger in the heat of the moment, knowing that it wouldn't have helped to protect those they loved. But it had eventually become too much for her, and just as he had been before, she was precariously close to the brink, the sinister chasm that separated anger from every other conscious thought.

While he still felt the same wracking guilt scratch at his heart with its razor-sharp claws and the livid simmering of his blood as it began to boil in his veins, her rage somehow served to calm him. He put her before himself in everything, would help her cool her fire instead of tending to his own.

"… I've heard countless stories and lies…" Her voice trailed off, becoming impossibly softer, and he could tell that already she was beginning to crack, that anger and frustration had chipped their way through her strength. "I've told them myself… I should have known…"

"Syd," he cut in gently, when this particular cessation of speech lasted longer than the others, when he knew that she now needed him more than she did space to breathe. His fingertips found the skin on her arm, began an intricate dance of patterns and lazy designs. "It's _not_ your fault. There's no way you could have known."

She didn't respond to him immediately, and at least that way he knew she had really heard him, that he had tugged her from anger's grip just enough so that his own words could find their way to her ears and truly be understood. When she spoke this time, her eyes actually ventured forth into his own; the still-present fury flickered within them for just a moment, softened by sadness, before she swabbed all emotion from her eyes and voice, a trick she had learned long ago, a safety mechanism that he had thought he had pulled from within her and thrown away.

"I handed our… Ilya to a murderer, Vaughn, to a…"

"We all did, Sydney…"

He interrupted her this time, his words potent, leaping from beneath the shadow of a strength he didn't know he possessed, the letters of her full name following it naturally. Only his touch deceived his tone, as his fingers jumped from her arm to her chin, tenderly catching hold of her face before she could turn away; a commanding gesture, but one almost more gentle than any she had ever known.

"… You, me, your father, and every agent of the CIA. She fooled us all, Syd."

It started with the slow almost aching rise of her chest, followed by the hissing outtake of air. She leaned into his touch, her head dipping downward as his fingers automatically maneuvered themselves from their softly authoritative grasp into a whispering caress. He knew it was a ridiculous claim, but he swore he could feel a rush of heat emanating from within her as she sighed, that the blush of distemper simmered from her cheeks and dissolved into the air, that the imp of anger crossed its arms in defiance, grumbling as it trudged away.

"I know that. It's just…"

Anger stopped and whirled hopefully around, salivating with the anticipation of regaining its quarry and taking a few eager steps forward before stumbling over Vaughn's tenacity and tumbling head over heels through the air. Vaughn had come too far to let anger win, had coaxed it away from her a thousand times before and had no intention of giving in this time. The little demon caught itself eventually, gnarled something unintelligible, shot the deadliest of sneers in Vaughn's direction, and then stalked out of existence.

All it took to secure a victory was a simple murmured command, two words contracted into one nearly effortless sound that was so strangled and faint it nearly wasn't able to take the leap from his tongue into the air.

"Don't."

He let it stand for a moment before adding another, not out of necessity, but on a whim, his lips somehow stretching it into a plea he wasn't sure he had intended, but must have, the tenderness of truth nearly overpowering the soft tone with its foghorn-like intensity.

"Please."

She had trailed off with his first word, would have been content to let him rescue her simply with that; but there was something about the second that washed over her completely, tugging at the corners of her lips. Perhaps it was the way it had seemed tacked on as an afterthought, almost didn't belong with what was spoken before, but then again, did perfectly.

"Okay."

He knew better than to question her rapid change in disposition, satisfied to let things slide as they were, revel in the fact that he had his Sydney back again. He didn't know that if he had asked her, had questioned what had made her turn around so quickly, she wouldn't have returned to anger's chokehold.

All he would have gotten was a bashful smile and simple word in response: _You_.

But instead, he let his lips press against hers for the briefest of seconds, stealing the _thank you_ that was always on her lips after moments like these, that he had long ago thought unnecessary. Both his hands had come up to frame her face, and he let them trail down her sides as he pulled away, noticing her flinch slightly even as he approached the ring of gauze on her arm.

"I think you should get this looked at," he murmured. "They'll be able to clean it up better than I could, check to make sure everything's okay."

"But your…"

He shook his head to silence her, glad, at least, that she was no longer trying to convince him that she was fine. "My mother can handle the boys a little while longer." He gave her a lopsided smile, needing to break the tension, if only for a moment, add even four seconds of something resembling normality to a day that had quickly gyrated out of control. "Plus, there's a good chance that she'll kill me if I go back to her without getting you checked out first."

A glimmer of sadness swept over her features, as she realized for the umpteenth time in her life that she could have lost him, could have lost everything. Vaughn was about to apologize for his poor choice of words; something would have only been a joke between any other couple, could easily have twisted from laughter into the agonizing gasp of reality for the two of them. After all that had happened that day…

But she shook off his words before he could give them breath, willingly taking his bait and raising a hand in mock surrender. "All right. But only because I'd _hate_ to drive your mother to manslaughter."

He grinned, nearly cheering when her face mirrored his own, and still unsure how he was able to resist the burning impulse to kiss her. They continued down the hallway, one of their hands finding its way to the other, neither realizing it until they had approached the medical unit and it was time to break apart. Before long, Sydney's arm was cleaned and bandaged to both Vaughn and later Charlotte's satisfaction, and they all busied themselves with any task that might help bring about Ilya's safety and Bykov's capture.

Not surprisingly, time found a way to pass much more quickly than it should have, one hour spinning into the next with little actually being accomplished. Well into nightfall and their third box of pizza (Weiss being a major contributor in this area, and then somehow managing to sneak home for the night), Vaughn found himself standing in the middle of the Operations Center, Gabriel's tiny body snuggled against his chest. Sydney had handed the little boy to him after his last feeding so she could rejoin Agent Lee and Charlotte in trying to coax Ilya into speaking of his grandmother. And neither the baby nor the white cloth that Sydney had first laid down had left Vaughn's shoulder since then.

He held the child deftly in one arm, the other pointing to a spot on the computer screen for what must have seemed like the hundredth time. "Have they tried there?"

"Yes, Agent Vaughn," both Mraz and Martin answered mechanically, like a chorus of bored schoolchildren memorizing their arithmetic. They had given up trying to dissuade Vaughn's determination almost two hours ago, about the same time they had stopped silently questioning whether the slightly older agent still realized he was holding his sleeping son or merely thought the infant was an extension of his own arm.

"How about…?"

"Vaughn."

Jack appeared in the doorway, his voice quiet but booming across the nearly empty Operations Center. Charlotte stood at his side with Ilya in her arms, the little boy's head resting sleepily against her shoulder and his thumb held securely in his mouth. Sydney had lagged behind, but swiftly stepped forward and approached him as Jack continued.

"That's enough for today. It's almost ten thirty."

Martin and Mraz didn't wait for their director to say anything more before shuffling quietly from the room, and at least managed to hold off their sighs of relief and cheers of joy until they were _almost_ out of earshot. Vaughn took a breath to fuel his protests, to demand use of the facilities for the night. But it only took one glance at his exhausted family to convince him to keep his mouth shut, nodding slowly and pressing a kiss against Sydney's temple as she folded herself into his arms. Each murmured to the other what they had uncovered over the hours, which sadly amounted to little more than nothing, and the room lapsed into the hum of electronic silence.

Clearing his throat, Jack informed them that as it was much too dangerous for any of them to leave, accommodations had been set up in Vaughn's office. No one objected this plan of action, especially when he added that he had thought it would be a more comfortable alternative to the originally offered retaining cells. All involved hoped that the situation would be temporary, although there was no one brave enough to say it.

Awhile later, after Jack had left, the boys had been sung to sleep on a blanket in the middle of the floor, and Sydney and his mother were lying somewhat comfortable on the creaky cots that the CIA had dug out of the back of some storage closet, Vaughn closed the blinds, flicked off the lights and sunk into his own makeshift bed. The events of the day began sliding kaleidoscopically behind his closed eyelids and he tried to force them from his thoughts, focusing instead on the four differently-patterned breaths that accompanied his own in the room, letting them meld into his lullaby.

Within minutes, the creaking of a cot overpowered the rustling of mothball-scented blankets and sleeping sighs. Vaughn's eyes were closed and he didn't need to open them as he rolled onto his side, moving instinctively as close to the wall as he could get. He didn't flinch when he felt something brush against his shoulder, had expected Sydney's fingertips to search him out in the dark, and gingerly reached out and pulled her down next to him. It was a tight fit on such a tiny space and there wasn't an inch of his body that wasn't pressed securely against hers; but with his arm flung possessively around her waist to keep her from falling, and her fingers firmly linked with his own, neither of them would have had it any other way.

Sleep found her quickly. He felt her grip on his hand loosen and her breathing even out; but he wasn't as lucky in his search for slumber, lying awake for so long that the only reason he was sure it wasn't morning was because the reddish glow of the emergency lights was all that lit the hallway. Just as he had finally let his burning eyes drift closed and was about to surrender to his dreams, he felt Sydney tense in his arms, her movement snapping his eyes fully open.

"Don't!"

Thick with sleep and riddled with fear, her voice didn't sound like her own, but he still would have recognized it in a sea of others, would have been able to uncover it from any accent or disguise. She attempted to roll out of his grip, but he only held her tighter, trying at once to avoid her injury and keep her from falling to the floor.

"Shh, Syd… It's okay…" He spoke in a whisper, leaning over her sleeping form and letting his lips brush against her ear.

"…Vaughn… Don't…"

The rest of her words were clouded in a mumble, could have been assembled from any of a number of letters and coupled to from various nonsensical statements: _toss the guy_, _cross the sky_, _frost the pie_… But it didn't matter as Vaughn pulled her back to him, sensing it was all right now to take his arm from around her and run it softly up and down her own, planting a gentle kiss on her shoulder blade as he lulled her away from her nightmares.

"Michael?"

For a moment, his mother's voice startled him. And it wasn't until he had impulsively yanked on the blankets to make sure both he and Sydney were covered and realized they were fully clothed, that he remembered where they were.

"Yeah?" he answered softly, not wanting to wake Sydney or the children, knowing they were lucky that both little boys had already slept as long as they had.

His mother was silent for so long that he almost thought the earlier sound of her voice had been a trick of his ears. But finally, he heard her take a deep breath, murmuring her words softly and carefully. "Tell me what happened to her."

He didn't even think of evading the issue, of making something up or finding a way to skirt around the truth, breaking it into puzzle pieces and only putting together the pretty ones, leaving the bloodied and tattered edges to wait indefinitely for never to one day roll around. And maybe he should have; should have blamed the nightmares on the day's events, should have attributed them to her rocky relationship with her father, her mother's death, or…

But he couldn't stop the words that whispered their way out of his throat, floating across the darkness to his mother like a psychotic version of a campfire ghost story. "About ten years ago, she was recruited by a secret branch of the CIA called SD-6…"

He remembered finishing the history, as close to the truth as he could get while leaving out the gory details. He remembered his mother's silence when he had finished, and thinking that she had fallen asleep, only to hear her tearfully murmur, _Take care of her, Michael_. It had been an easy promise to make, merely an extension of the very same pact he had made to himself long ago.

He must have fallen asleep then, waking only twice when Gabriel and Ilya cried, staying up with Sydney while she fed one and he comforted the other. They were all sleeping peacefully when the CIA building came to life the next morning, and no one noticed the bustle in the hallway until the door slammed open, flooding a bright, artificial light into five bleary pairs of eyes.

Gabriel began to whimper and Ilya shot off the floor, running to the back of the room and peeking out from behind Vaughn's desk; he seemed to waver as to whether he should go back to protect his little charge, but decided it would be safer to watch from where he was. Vaughn heard Sydney moan softly as she moved to sit up, and fumbled to help her while trying to remember exactly where he kept the Advil in his desk and pull himself out of bed at the same time.

"Oh, sorry, Agent Vaughn. I didn't realize you were all asleep in here," a voice whispered loudly, and the beam of light began to shrink, as the door was pulled closed.

"Wait," Vaughn called out, rubbing his eyes to help them adjust to the light, and frantically searching the back of his mind for a name to match the disembodied voice and finally stumbling across it. "Martin. What's going on?"

Brightness inundated the room once again, as the door was pushed fully open and the younger agent stepped inside. Had any of them been able to see at all clearly, they would have noticed Martin blush while he quickly scanned the room, finding Vaughn's mother with a blanket pulled tightly around her, Agent Bristow leaning sleepily against Vaughn's chest, a baby squirming on the floor, and two dark eyes peeping out from under the desk. But he quickly straightened, ready to report his news with all the dignity that his CIA training had brought him.

"It's Bykov, sir. They've found him."


	11. Faltering

Rhapsody  
Chapter 11: Faltering

* * *

For a moment, he thought it was all a dream, one that he was sure to have had at least once during the course of that night. When he parted his lips to speak, there were no words waiting to be released; his tongue felt painfully swollen and heavy, as if it had been stung. His world warped into blurred metallic images and rusty sounds; much different than it had been mere seconds before, when he could have sworn that he had been fully awake…

Sydney straightened in his arms and pulled away, the pinch he needed to refocus his eyes and his mind, to convince him that he _wasn't_ dreaming. There were days when it would take a literal downpour of thousands of tiny kisses over every inch of her face to lure her from sleep, when he had to pull the covers off both their bodies or even threaten to leave her in bed alone. Today, none of that was required; she was somehow more alert than he was at the moment, Agent Martin's last few words serving to bounce him back to his foggy, sleep-deprived state of mind.

Not surprisingly, Sydney was the first to speak; her question didn't seem to be the one she had intended to ask, but she was able to expertly mask the surprise that overtook her features for the shortest of instants, the sound of her voice tempting Vaughn's out of hiding.

"What time it is?"

"A little after eight," Martin answered, matter-of-factly, returning Ilya's wary stare. The child had not moved from his position behind the desk, nor seemed to have any intention of doing so. He had reason to be afraid of unfamiliar men who rattled him from his dreams, only kept from crying out because he could just make out little Gabriel's feet, could see Sydney and Vaughn out of the corner of his eye. The three of them helped him hold together what little bravery he had, eyes focused on the man before him, daring him to take just one step towards the baby who was only still lying on the floor because he would have been too heavy for Ilya to lift.

Vaughn would have been able to sympathize with the younger agent, having received that exact same look so many times in the past. But in order to do that, he would have had to notice the heat that was passing between the young man and the little boy, would have had to remember the long plane ride and the first few days after it, would have had to be able to focus on anything other than the tiny, pointed fangs of anger that had just sunken into the flesh of his big toe, spewing the noxious poison of revenge into his veins.

As it was, he hadn't even heard Martin continue. "… to the authorities about twenty minutes ago. Apparently the fat one tried to buy cigarettes and threw a fit when the owner wouldn't accept his rubles. We picked them up on satellite relay. Cops have blocked off their van so they're still in the vicin…"

"Where?"

Vaughn spat the word out as if he had been choking on it, startling Martin to fumble for a question that he already knew the answer to, but needed to buy time to re-gather the wits Vaughn's tone and quick delivery had torn from him and whipped around the room.

"What?"

"_Where_ is he?" Vaughn stood and was already halfway across the room, approaching at a menacingly rapid pace while still managing to do no more than walk.

Martin swallowed visibly. "At a gas station outside Cienega. On the corner of…"

But Vaughn was already past him and out the door and Martin had to run to catch up. Sydney followed quickly, as she would have been able to do not even a year before; but so much had changed in a year. Changes that, for the most part, were better, but in situations like this…

Gabriel's whimpers turned to full-fledged shrieks, so loud and desperate that little Ilya jumped out of hiding to totter to the infant's side. Sydney froze in the doorway, a hand on the frame to steady herself as she slowly turned, heart ripped in two over whether she should run to her little boy or after her love, not even sure which she would have wanted more. Her eyes swept across the room, met Charlotte's for a quarter of a second, before landing on the two little boys.

Gabriel's entire face had turned a dark shade of red and his balled fists pounded against the ground in time with his kicking little feet. Ilya had sunk to his knees, his hands pattering gently across the baby's face, his lips moving incessantly; but if any words were actually pouring from them, they were sliced by the infant's screams.

Sydney knew in less than an instant where she was needed. It took her all of two steps to cross the room, her eyes locked on the picture of her two little boys, almost melting when she realized that Gabriel was quieting under Ilya's ministrations. A hand on her wrist stopped her, nearly shocked all the air from her lungs. Color rose in her cheeks at her own reaction, embarrassed that she had let Charlotte startle her so. Reluctantly, her eyes left the children, crawling a path towards her future mother-in-law's, running across the older woman's soft smile before reaching their final destination.

"Go on, dear," Charlotte murmured, motioning towards the door. She put a hand on Sydney's, squeezing gently before letting go. "Ilya and I can hold down the fort for a few minutes."

"Thank you," Sydney somehow managed to choke out, mouthing the words more than speaking them. She ventured one last look over her two little boys, the picture they created nearly making her forget that she had ever wanted to leave: Ilya had one thumb in his mouth, the fingers of the other hand playing gently with Gabriel's, the little boy's tears no longer falling.

"Wish him luck for us," Charlotte added, reaching to lift Gabriel from the floor and patting Ilya's head, giving Sydney the boost she needed to turn from the three of them and leave the room.

When she entered the hallway, reality hit her like the unexpected shock of cold air, and she nearly stumbled into a group of lower-level agents. Quickly recovering herself, too rushed to offer or accept any apologies, she sprinted down the hall in the direction she knew Vaughn would have gone, ignoring the strange glances and amused whispers of _Looks like Bristow's back_.

She just barely caught up with him, entering the Operations Center as he was about to exit from the other side of the room. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Sydney heard Weiss' voice calling out in Vaughn's direction, "Mike? Hold on, just wait for the… Mike?! Two seconds …"

"Vaughn."

He jolted as the vibrations of her voice passed over him, the sound of it freezing not only the two of them, but the entire Operations Center, everything pausing for a quarter of a second, recognizing the urgency in her tone even if its depth of emotion was somewhat foreign. She hadn't shouted or cried out, hadn't whispered it near tears, hadn't shrieked or sung or laughed. Nothing more was needed than the gentle push of air past vocal chords and through lips, a quick journey through the room to his ears that very well might have taken place a thousand times on any other day, one person trying to capture the attention of another.

But there was something about it that only he could recognize, a fudgy glaze of worry, a sugary sprinkling of doubt, a dollop of warning topped with the cherry of love. The mere sound of her voice giving breath to the letters of his name, forming them in the same way that hundreds of others had, but somehow adding so much more, a mouth-watering concoction that he would sink his teeth into without thought if he could only figure out how. It was all it took to liquefy his gnawing hunger for revenge, reducing it from the searing, nauseous appendicitis-like pain, to the slight ache of an empty stomach longing for a midnight snack.

Turning and searching her out, he paused only long enough to lock his own eyes with hers. The buildings, the situation were both different; this time, they weren't separated by smoking yards of rubble, the destruction of a twisted, false way of life that had opened the door to what they had together. Without thought, he took the few tentative steps in her direction, didn't even realize that they soon progressed into a brisk walk, that even that was not fast enough to get to her.

Sydney followed his lead, her steps matching his own until they met in the center of the room and she found her way into his arms. Deep within some nearly hidden nook in her mind, a tiny, tinny, ringing voice shouted out the similarities, shrieked of déjà vu and memories that she would never want to suppress. She let the smooth sweetness of it wash over her, slip from her mind and down her throat, inundating every nerve ending in her body.

Neither of them heard Weiss speak, just as neither of them had that day. But this time, his tone was knowing, warning, instead of brimming with excitement and adrenaline, hell-bent on getting his news across and not even raising so much as an eyebrow at the position in which he had found his two friends. Of course, when they had later returned to the CIA building and Weiss had innocently opened that closet door, his reaction hadn't been half as nonchalant, but…

"Guys… Hey! Now's _really_ not the time…"

_Hey guys, I just talked to Base. We did it, we kicked their asses…_

"… to repeat the closet incident. Guys…?"

_… did you hear what I said? Asses… kicked…_

"What closet incident?"

The sudden intrusion of a voice shouldn't have surprised him, he _was_ surrounded by people after all, but still Weiss jumped at the sound of it, still half expecting his friends' clothes to disintegrate, the room to shrink into that small, not-dark-enough closet, and the scene he had tried so hard to erase from his memory to burn itself into his retinas with even more detail and precision. Taking his eyes off the couple, Weiss found Agent Mraz at his side, pulling on the black gloves that completed his ensemble and watching him expectantly.

"How old are you?" Weiss asked seriously. He wouldn't have been at all surprised if the younger agent had answered _Twelve_. "Seventeen? Eighteen?"

"Twenty-five."

Weiss smiled sympathetically and patted him on the shoulder. "Buddy, you're far too young to hear this story. We wouldn't want to scar your Baby-Agenthood; no assets, no last-second trips to foreign countries, and that pile of paperwork on your desk only blocks _half_ of the doorway. They're the best years of your life."

"I _have_ a girlfriend," Mraz responded with an indignant sigh, folding his arms across his chest.

"Not like that, you don't."

It was a simple answer, and maybe one that would have evaded the truth or stood only to help win an argument at any other time. But here, it _was_ the truth, and it didn't take much more than one at least partially working eye to see that.

Weiss gestured in Sydney and Vaughn's direction, couldn't help but marvel at the way her cheek rested so perfectly against his chest, while the fingers on one of his hands combed through her hair, the other rubbing circles into her back. For a moment, Weiss wondered what his friend had done in a former life to deserve the woman who now stood in his arms, who would stay there for the rest of both their lives and then some. Maybe if he could get Vaughn to divulge this secret, his now lonely trips to the local pubs would end in more than vicious hangovers and flopped one night stands; maybe by this time next year, he could have a closet incident of his own.

But as things stood now, there was no chance in hell of that happening, and Vaughn had more than one up on him in that department: he still stood with his fiancée in the middle of the Ops Center; one of them would look up or down, lips moving in time with what were unquestionably whispered words. Even Weiss had to admit it was sweet, and sure, it _looked_ innocent, but he had seen more than enough to be overly cautious where the two of them were concerned. He had a hundred bucks riding on the assumption that little Gabe would be corrupted the very same day he learned how to walk, and still had every hope of winning back his money and then some.

Turning back to Mraz and taking his hand from the younger agent's shoulder, Weiss nodded thoughtfully. "Just turn around and pretend you don't see them," he said with a shrug. "It's worked for me before. They'll be done soon."

"They're not _doing_ anything," the younger agent responded, openly scrutinizing the couple just as more than a few others were, his attention suddenly turned as Jack marched into the room. "Just talking."

"They're good, kid. That's what they _want_ you to think."

But in all honesty, Vaughn and Sydney were doing nothing more than that. Probably even less, since the amount of words that needed to be spoken between them was cleaved into a fraction of what would have normally been required. She was content to simply hear his heart beat against her ear, to let her fingertips waltz along the wrinkled material of his shirt; she sighed against him, peering up to meet his eyes.

"Don't go by yourself," she whispered, her eyes following the path that the buttons on his shirt took downward as her cheeks colored, embarrassment rising at her sudden over-protectiveness and seeming vulnerability. Not because of where she was, they had both easily forgotten their current location, but because of _who_ she was, because Sydney Bristow was not supposed to need anyone as much as she did this man.

At different times, it frightened, soothed, frustrated her, colored her in the giddy glow of happiness, the pale pink of embarrassment and the seething red of anger. No matter what the single or complex jumble of emotion, she could never prevent whatever words burned to get to him from finding their way to her lips. A closed mouth would do little to aid her, only giving thought and feeling more cause to flood from her eyes, her fingertips, her every breath and movement. So she relented, allowed thought and sensation the letters required to spring into speech, permitted her voice to adjust itself as it thought necessary, even if it would sound close to begging…

"Please," she added, her whispered tone lowering to that nearly impossible to hear level which seemed to vibrate more against his skin than his eardrums, shaking what little concern hadn't already been showing through his irises to gleam in full force. But this allowed her to garner the courage to continue, her voice to raise and recollect a pinch of that all-knowing strength he recognized. "There's a whole team ready to go, Vaughn. You'd just have to wait for the…"

She was silenced by the pad of his thumb, let it brush across the seam of her lips before turning her gaze from him. Perhaps not quite to the exact second, but she could predict the moment his hand would shift to her chin, tilting her face upwards so that she once again met his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Syd, I… I wasn't thinking," he admitted quietly, "about you, or Gabe, or Ilya…"

He trailed off when he saw the glimmer in her eyes, simply a fragment of the sunny sparkle he prayed would never fully burn from within her, no matter what happened to them both. He was able to sense that she was going to speak before she knew it herself, waited for her words to sweep through the silence. They came eventually, quietly, despite the furtive glances that were stolen in their direction and the blatant stares from Weiss and Mraz.

"Yes you were."

They were three little words that belonged to one of those moments where he discovered anew that she was the only one who would ever truly understand him, almost made him ashamed that he had ever held another woman in his arms. This sensation washed over him thousands of times each day, often with nothing more than a laugh or smile; when he opened the front door, returning from whatever errand he had been on, and she was waiting just steps away with the boys, cooing that daddy was home…

Sydney just… she just _got_ it, she got him. She understood his thoughts even before he did himself, knew that the blind rage that had almost driven him to take on Bykov alone was only _partially_ a self-motivated thirst for revenge, _mostly_ an uncontrollable desire to protect his family, to do whatever it took to keep them safe. She had felt the same way before, and…

"Be careful," she murmured, filling the space where his speech should have been. There were only two spoken words, three syllables and not even enough letters to fill the fingers on both his hands. But so much more was carried on the breath she gave to them, twinkling in the path her eyes took, shooting quickly down to the floor before meandering back up to his own.

He could sense how badly she wanted to go, to be in the midst of the fray as they found this bastard and made him pay for the hell he had inflicted on a little boy's life. But just as two normal parents might have decided against a private vacation merely so they would not both be on the same plane if something should go wrong, so that one of them would always be there for their children, they had silently agreed that only one of them could go on this mission. On any mission, he realized quickly, but that would have to be something they discussed later, when the turmoil of their lives slowed to at least a loud and buzzing hum from the utter clamor to which it had so recently risen.

"Always, Syd," he promised easily, knowing that this time she was expecting a response. Whatever her question or comment, he was usually able to yank the right reply from deep within him, as if he had somehow known it had been there all along. This time, however, he seemed to know that she wouldn't agree with what he needed to say, and it almost pained him to give life to the words; but he would never lie to her, would spoon-feed her a thousand sharp and painful truths before the most sticky-sweet of falsehoods. "But you know that I…"

Before he could continue, Weiss' "Okay guys, really" that he had planned on ignoring was joined by the steadily loudening echo of a familiar scream, one that would wrench painfully at Vaughn's heart if it were allowed to continue for a moment longer. His mother came into sight, a shrieking Gabriel in one arm and a frightened Ilya clinging tightly to her other hand.

"I'm sorry, dear," she murmured, glancing apologetically at Sydney. "I waited as long as I could. But he's hungry, and, quite frankly, I think he just wants his mother."

Vaughn watched as Sydney took the little boy with a whispered thank you, and offered his mother a grateful smile, completely enraptured by the picture of his son quieting and snuggling into Sydney's chest, trying fervently to get to his breakfast. It was something so relatively simple, yet he and Sydney had had to jump and twirl through an intricate string of hoops and tunnels to reach it; he had thought that it was something they would have never been able to attain. He bent to kiss the little boy's head, enamored with the feel of the fuzzy hair against his lips, but unable to muse much further on this subject when something tugged at his pant leg.

A glance downward showed little Ilya looking sadly up at him, his hand grasping the material of Vaughn's pants so tightly that there was no question over whether or not he was afraid to let go. Gently loosening the boy's fingers and crouching so that he was eye-to-eye with the child's serious stare, Vaughn took one of Ilya's hands in his own. "What's the matter, buddy?"

Ilya launched himself into Vaughn's arms, nearly toppling both of them over with the force of it, and causing the few surrounding agents that weren't focusing overly hard on Jack Bristow's current briefing to smile. The child hid his face in the nape of Vaughn's neck as he was lifted off the ground, one of his hands sliding continuously over Vaughn's skin while he mumbled a nearly tearful, "Babe…"

"Babe," Vaughn began to explain, quickly catching his error at the same time Sydney's small smile flickered into view. He proffered a bashful one of his own, unconsciously nestling his cheek against Ilya's head and pulling back with a kiss. "Gabe's okay. Just hungry."

Whether Ilya understood his words or not didn't seem to matter. The child softened in his arms, reaching a hand up to the tip of Vaughn's nose and trying to squeeze it as Vaughn had done to the boy himself so many times in the past few days. Unable to suppress a grin, Vaughn mirrored Ilya's action, "stealing" the little boy's nose and then kindly replacing it.

"Hey Mike?"

Weiss' voice was soft, had lost all the impatient intensity it had possessed just moments before. The quick briefing had finished and Vaughn hadn't heard a word, hadn't even noticed that the other agents had begun filing quickly past him to their places at computer consoles or into the vans waiting just outside the exit.

"You ready?"

Nodding, Vaughn handed Ilya to his mother, kissing her cheek quickly before turning to find Sydney blocking his path. She tilted her lips upwards, pressing them against his own so quickly that afterwards, he almost wasn't even sure if it had happened. She let that stand in the place of good luck, and it served as the goodbyes they both refused to extend, such a parting seeming too formal and final. But there was one thing he had to say to her before he left, that he probably shouldn't here, now, but couldn't let himself walk out those doors without…

"I love you, Sydney."

The words popped and fizzed with so much finality that he almost regretted them; not that they had been spoken, but the unmistakably serious way in which they had been uttered. He watched as her eyes abruptly narrowed, glazing over with an amalgamation of uncertainty and cautious curiosity so volatile that it nearly bordered on distrust.

"Vaughn? What are…"

He dropped a swift kiss on her frowning lips, incarcerating the rest of her question and bringing a hand up to smooth the worry lines from her forehead. The corners of his mouth upturned in a small, quick smile.

"I love you," he repeated, the words falling slower than they had the first time. But they had barely had a chance to linger in the air before he was forced to relent to Weiss' gentle shoves. He turned, leaving Sydney wishing more desperately than anything that she had been able to find the breath to respond.

Vaughn stumbled into the back of one of the vans, donning more appropriate attire and trying unsuccessfully to listen as his friend blathered on about what exactly they were supposed to be doing. Vaughn was on pins and needles throughout the entire ride, his stomach pirouetting even more maniacally than it had his very first mission, and for once, he was glad that there hadn't been time to eat breakfast.

All that enabled him to move, to rise to his feet when the van came to a halt, step out and march with a group of others so that he ended up in his proper place encircling Bykov's van, were thoughts and flashes of Ilya, Gabriel, Sydney…

"… negative, sir. Nothing…"

The agent's words rang in his ears as doors of the empty van slammed shut. He fought to maintain control, trying to tell himself that he had known it wasn't going to be that easy, to listen to Jack's voice in his earpiece: something about searching the perimeter and he couldn't hear the rest. Words babbled endlessly, flowing one into the other, losing their shape and form as the voice mutated into Sydney's soft murmur, the gibbering sleep-talk that strummed at his heart on those long, dark nights.

He heard her in smiles, dimples, the soft touch of fingertips, and whispers that were really nothing more than the constant soft hiss of static. He knew that, somewhere in the back of his mind and heart, but still let it lure him away from the group, drawing him to where Bykov would be, to where he could ensure his family's safety with a well-placed bullet. It was all that mattered when he saw Sydney's face behind his blinking eyelids, heard her soft murmur: _Be careful_…

Vaughn had promised to be careful, and he would be. Careful to make sure that son of a bitch never went anywhere near any member of his family again.

The sudden surge of determination, the flaring of rage and a desire to protect his loved ones that was so intense it physically hurt, propelled him onward. He couldn't say where he was or in which direction he was headed, but let passion serve as his compass and muscle, guiding his path and propelling his footsteps. The zephyrous morning air tickled what little flesh wasn't covered by his facemask, metamorphosed into the wraith of Sydney's lips raining over him, her whispering voice, his son's sleeping sighs, Ilya happily shouting their names…

He didn't want to think about how if they failed this mission, if _he_ failed this mission, he was giving Bykov another chance to hurt them, to extinguish the sparks of their lives that lit up his own. That he might never have a chance to hear, touch, taste, smell, see any part of them again…

"… Boy Scout's separated himself from the group."

"Where is he?"

"I _swear_, he was just _right_ behind me!"

"Alpha team, continue as planned. He'll find his way back."

Vaughn heard the voices, even made sense of the words: the first agent calmly reporting the goings-on, Jack's bordering on angry reply, Weiss' confusion… it was all so crystal clear and yet so clouded. He perceived the words, but it was as if they had twisted and scraped along a thousand convoluted pipes, grating against glass and nails, not losing their shape but obliterating anything that even resembled a meaning. The rest of the conversation rippled through his earpiece without making any sense at all.

Jack had angrily torn off his headset, turning to the nearest agent with an heated glare and shouting out orders. Hissing and glowing letters crashed violently into words; sparking to flame the second he opened his mouth and nearly incinerating poor Agent Lee. Among them, three words that might have made Vaughn reconsider, might have stopped him in his tracks and convinced him to turn back around…

"Widen the range of satellite surveillance… Setup a secure line straight to Vaughn... And get Sydney... Now!"

Had she been given the choice, Sydney would have been in the Operations Center at that very moment, would never have left unless it was to partake in the mission herself. But while she had been forced to wear some pretty revealing costumes over the years and most of the agents would have been too involved in their own business to have questioned it, breastfeeding her son was not something she felt she should share with a good chunk of the CIA staff.

As soon as the various teams had filed out of the building, she had silently led her little group back to Vaughn's office. They could just as easily have gone to hers; they had passed it on the way, after all. But whether it was his smell, the feel of his presence, or the fact that he had so recently held her in his arms in that very same space, there was simply something about the fact that the office belonged to Vaughn that led her back to it, seemed to have called to her just as he might have himself.

Ilya had latched onto her side as soon as his feet had touched the floor, only separating from her after Gabriel had been fed and handed to his grandmother, and Sydney had gently pushed the little boy away so she could stand. The room had seemed to become smaller and smaller as she paced it, back and forth without stopping, without noticing that Ilya was always toddling close behind; her eyes found the clock, the window, her watch, the door, the clock again, and…

"Ilya!" His name flew from her lips in a harsher tone than she had intended, nearly tripping over him as she had turned to give the room another pass. But the gentle "Sweetie…" that followed it a moment later, with more compassion and patience than she would have thought herself capable of at the moment more than made up for it.

She took him into her arms, frowning at the way he threw his own around her neck and clung to her tightly, hadn't seemed so desperate since those few days after she had first rescued him. Her thoughts of Vaughn's safety became sprinkled with those of this child's, soon transferred to her own, and…

"Sydney, dear?"

It wasn't until the fourth time Charlotte called to her future daughter-in-law that Sydney's head snapped in her direction, eyes immediately apologetic as a hand continued its comforting path through Ilya's hair. "Hmm?"

"Michael told me last night, about how…"

"Agent Bristow!"

A breathless Agent Lee appeared in the doorway, her dark hair flying wildly. "Director Br… um… your father needs you right away."

Sydney's eyes had clouded with concern the moment she had heard the younger agent frantically calling her name. Now they stormed to a full-fledged fear, barely held back by her stubborn stoicism and pride. She tried to place Ilya on the ground; wanted, needed to run in the direction of the Operations Center, knew why Vaughn's last words to her had been so seriously careful, so necessary when he had known deep down what he had to do... And that he might not come back.

While Charlotte knew something was not right, she at least had the presence of mind not to let her thoughts wander among the thousand and one things that might have gone wrong with her son. She knew him better than most mothers can know their grown boys, but even so, it would have been impossible for her to be so connected with him that his thoughts and feelings belonged almost solely to her; he only allowed one woman that far into his life. Charlotte hadn't had enough experience with him either during operations or with his new family to know that his determination and desperation would surely multiply tenfold when both came crashing together; she never knew what it was possible for her sweet little boy to become.

For that alone, she remained levelheaded, had tenderly shifted the sleeping Gabriel into one of her arms and tried to take Ilya with the other. But the little boy gripped Sydney forcefully, his arms so tight around her neck that she nearly choked; his entire body unnaturally rigid, face buried in her neck, the hot tears stinging her flesh just as every strangled murmur of "Tyd!" stabbed at her heart.

Somehow, she more or less coherently spoke to Vaughn's mother, let the woman reassure her with a gentle "He'll be all right," when it should have been the other way around, when the experienced agent should have brought comfort to the mother in her time of need. Gabriel was still fast asleep in Charlotte's arms, and despite the shadow of worry that had creased his grandmother's forehead, she had gamely agreed to stay with him and keep out of the way.

Agent Lee had promised to bring word as soon as they heard anything, another thing that Sydney knew she should have done herself. But she didn't have time to think further on it as the two agents all but ran to the Ops Center, the small boy Sydney carried in her arms all that kept the pace down to something resembling a walk. Sydney didn't ask for any information when arriving at her father's side, merely taking the headset he handed to her, getting it on quickly even with one hand and hissing, "Vaughn! What the _hell_ are you doing?"

"Syd?"

His voice crackling to her ear was the sweetest music she had ever heard. She could practically taste the remorse and sudden unease that clung to each slight change in sound and pitch. One syllable and he made her forget everything: the Ops Center, the other agents, that she was standing in her father's shadow, holding a little boy in her arms…

"I… ad to go, Sydn… otect you and the boys…"

Even though it was nearly shouted in her ear, she didn't hear her father's command for someone to try and fix the signal, didn't feel Ilya pick his head up off her shoulder, perking up at the muffled sound of Vaughn's voice.

"You told me you'd be _careful_," she whispered quietly, delicately.

"I am. I… ill be," his garbled answer crooned to her through the hissing static. "Syd, I – I... ave an instinct about this… where he is… I ha… to… ind him, to get h…"

"What's wrong with our signal?!"

"I don't know, sir. All the lines have gone fuzzy."

The room exploded into action, but Sydney was oblivious to anything and everything but the voice sputtering in her ear, wouldn't have noticed the booming detonation, the roar of fire, the growl of flying debris, or the shrieks of agony if the Operations Center had _literally_ exploded at that moment.

"Please, Vau…"

Her few words choked to a halt when a tiny hand tugged at her headset, wrenching her neck to the side and painfully jolting her wounded arm. She heard Vaughn's quiet but frenzied, "Syd?" wanted to scream at him for worrying about _her_ safety when _he_ was the one whose life was in peril. She tried to reach for her headset, but froze; what she found in front of her reaching hand and before her eyes wreaking havoc on all her other senses, almost annihilating them beyond repair.

Always good at imitating others, always wanting to be just like those two adults who had so willingly opened their hearts to him, taken him in when he had had no one else, no where else to go…

"Bahn?" Ilya whispered, tiny fingers maneuvering the mouthpiece so that he was nearly chewing on it, the headset too big to fit around his head as it should have and quickly slipping off his ears.

But that didn't matter. All that did was the dark, serious eyes, blinking in concentration; the forehead that was too little to already have such anxious furrows; and the small, rarely heard voice that sang into the air, clearly relaying one word to the man listening on the other end.

"Daddy?"

All sense and movement spluttered to a ferocious halt, nearly giving Sydney whiplash as everything else carried on dizzyingly around her. She knew that they had been making that slip all along, had let themselves and others refer to the child as his own. But to hear that term from the boy's own lips, amongst the shouting and flurried activity of the Ops Center, when so much was already at stake…

"Who… who was… at?" Vaughn asked cautiously, his voice so low that she could barely hear it stumble above the sizzle of static.

Sydney hugged the little boy tightly to her, gently removing the headset from his firm grasp and whispering his name into the mouthpiece, "Ilya."

She thought she heard Vaughn take a breath to respond, but if any words tripped from the tip of his tongue, they were either swallowed or lost forever in their faulty connection, taking any chance of happiness with them. A low rumbling invaded Sydney's ears: the sound of a voice too rasping, too far from the microphone to be heard clearly. But the loud and painful click that broke through next was all too familiar, made her involuntarily shudder with the panicked recollection of the never-to-be-forgotten chill of deadly metal digging into tender flesh and the taunting vibration of a weapon being readied for fire.

For half a second, she waited without breath or motion, couldn't fight any words past the lump in her throat, but wouldn't have been able to find any to better the situation. She expected each crackle of static to burst into the agonizing thunder of a single gunshot. But was startled by the sudden silence that roared in her ear, immediately followed by a long, ear-piercing squeal, which nearly deafened all those listening.

The static was gone. The line was dead. And the screeching continued, wailing interminably as it joined with the shouts of the surrounding agents.

Sydney didn't hear it, didn't feel her father slam against her as he tried to maintain the connection or Agent Lee violently tear the headset from her ear. A single tear was all she would allow to crawl down her cheek before she angrily wiped it away, torn between rage, dejection and gut-wrenching nausea as three seconds of silence ticked to four and five… and forty-six and forty-seven…

And the one thought her numbed mind could halfway curl itself around, the only thing she could focus on when so many more important points were clamoring for her attention, when her father was practically screaming commands and agents had to scurry around her to do their best to fulfill them…

… was that she wished she had responded earlier, had been able to tell him she loved him… while she had still had the chance.


	12. Epiphany

Rhapsody

Chapter 12: Epiphany

* * *

There were thousands of different types of torture that could domino their way through Sydney's mind if given the right trigger. Some she had experienced herself, a few she had inflicted on others, and every last one she had heard horror stories about, most that had seemed mere myths until she had gained the field experience to show her otherwise. All had their differing levels and outcomes: small bruises that would completely disappear in time; wounds that would eventually fade to nothing more than painless scars; termites of insecurity that could gnaw their way through one's sanity if given the time; and any of the millions of subtle and vicious combinations that spilled too much blood, squeezed out the last molecules of air and snuffed the spirit hidden deep inside…

The ramifications from a single shot alone: the never-ending wait before the explosion of gunpowder, the deadly, breath-like chill of metal, the snapping click of the trigger, and the knowledge that one screaming bullet, a flaming hunk of metal and a few milliseconds, were all that stood between you and crimson agony… or instant death.

Simply considering all of this was enough to drive a person mad, a form of torture in and of itself, capable of making even someone as strong as Sydney keel over into the numbing bliss of unconsciousness. If her brain had taken the time to follow the carefully mapped out routes of logic during moments like these, slowed down when it should have and followed all laws and signs, then Sydney's mind would have been reeling with _what ifs _and _could bes_, sending both her and Ilya careening to the floor.

But instead time was almost kind enough to slow down, taking her backwards even without the convenience of a flux capacitor housed safely within a DeLorean, allowing her to relive single moments, ones that she would have thought she had forgotten, but could startlingly remember instant by instant, word for word…

Their first fight (if it could even be called that) as a couple, just a few days after she had moved into his apartment. She still had no idea what it was about, perhaps she had tried to keep something from him, even something as small as the fact that she had a headache; maybe it was because she had been tired of perpetually finding dirty socks hiding in obscure corners of every room; or they might have both been tired, overworked, and… She hadn't even remembered the cause of it then, as she had stood looking out the window, her bold streak of stubbornness rooting her to the ground when she wanted so desperately to go find him, to tell him that she was sorry, even if she hadn't known what for.

The minutes had ticked steadily by as she had stood there, trying to reason with her pride, to tell it that she surely wasn't the easiest person to get along with, must have done something to… But then she had felt his fingertips brush against her shoulder and his strong arms enveloping her. Stubbornness had been forced to relent; she hadn't been able to resist leaning back into him, following his whispered _I'm sorry_ with one of her own. They had just stood there then, watching the sun set and the streetlights turn on…

"… no connection to any of the team."

"Is someone jamming our signal?"

"Possibly, or it might be…"

"Don't _give_ me hypotheses! Get it to _work_…"

Just a few days ago, she had been doing laundry. She remembered him offering to help and her sweet refusal, neither of them bringing up 'The Great Bleach Caper," but each knowing that it was skipping through the other's mind, a memory shared with small smiles and nothing more. He had left her alone then, and she had been folding the towels when one had been suddenly snatched from her hand.

_"Vaughn, what are you…?"_

Her sentence had given way to laughter as he had wrapped the towel completely around himself, peeking out from underneath its soft blue cloth with a sigh of satisfaction. She had been able to see him as a three-year-old then: sweet, innocent and absolutely adorable; could imagine their son mirroring the gesture in the years to come…

_"They're so nice and warm, Syd."_

_"I know. I just took them out of the…"_

He had pulled her to him then, somehow managing to wrap the towel around them both and find her lips in the dark. The first had by far been the greater of the two feats, the second having been perfected long before that moment. She couldn't exactly recall the feeling of his lips on own, but she wouldn't have wanted to; it would have spoiled the magic. All that had been there were simple sensations… two heights of warmth as different as night and day: one pure heat, the other him; an oxymoron of languid urgency that had always been the two of them together; gentle pressure, soft sighs, and…

It had somehow ended too soon and seemed to have gone on forever. He had been forced to yank the towel from around them eventually, and red-faced and gulping for air, they had come out of hiding, unsure why they had felt embarrassed when the boys had been napping and not another soul had been around.

Vaughn had folded the towel, placing it on her steadily growing pile before she had had a chance to catch her breath, and she had laughingly agreed to let him help with the laundry whenever he wanted…

"…hear that?"

"That's static, sir."

"I know what it is!"

"Yeah, it's just that…"

"Sir! I think I've got it!"

A couple weeks after Gabriel had been born, Sydney had awakened from a nap she hadn't meant to take; rubbing the sleep from her eyes and rising from the couch, she had tiptoed down the hall. She had been drawn by the reassuring hum of his voice, the words slowly twisting and unfolding from the droning garble she had at first heard, into the words that even now echoed so clearly within her ears.

_"… and this little piggy stayed home. This little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had n…"_

He had stopped when he'd felt her presence in the doorway, offering her one of his patented shy smiles and scooping their wiggling son off the floor and into his arms.

_"Hey, gorgeous. How was your nap?"_

She hadn't meant to answer, but her escaped yawn had been enough to inform him that she could have slept the rest of the day and all through the night and it wouldn't have been nearly long enough. Vaughn had been ready to rise and meet her, but a few steps had already brought her toward the center of the room, and she had sunk down next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

_"Keep going."_

She had felt his smile rain down upon her, washing warmth over every inch of her skin, a sensation that had tingled as it seeped beneath and into every last fiber of her being. There had been no palm trees, no soothing ocean waves or sunset meant to rival any other that had ever found its way onto a postcard. Just sitting on the rug in the middle of her son's room had become paradise, even without the lingering thoughts of _Wish you were here!_ painted in some fluorescent script in the corner.

Vaughn had dropped a kiss on the top of her head, and she had watched as he began to tickle their son's tiny toes once again. _"And this little piggy…"_

The echo of his voice was shattered by the hissing crackle of static, breaking at points to become a somewhat understandable version of an agent's voice. Despite her best intentions to cling to these scraps of memory, this lucid half-consciousness that was all that kept her sane, sights and sounds began to creep through her reverie, dispersing the swirling fog of dreams that had protectively wound its way around her.

No one had told her that they had repaired their connection to the main team, that they still hadn't heard anything from Vaughn. She could easily figure that out in the way that almost everyone seemed to be avoiding her, hoping that she had been paying enough attention to not need a separate briefing, so that none of them would have to be the one to give it to her, could all carry on as if she weren't there.

"… has also disappeared… in the direction of… Scout. No sign of…"

Sydney allowed the Operations Center to come completely back into focus before trying to move, was surprised to find herself seated in a chair a few feet from where she could last remember standing, nearly panicked when she discovered her arms empty, because she knew that someone, something should have been there. She stood quickly, spinning around so fast that she slammed into a passing agent, only allowed herself a hiss of pain as she reached for her still-wounded arm, searching frantically for Ilya.

"… gunfire… Following the sound to…"

"…ent Bristow?... Sydney?"

A hand was on her shoulder, quickly joined by another, much smaller and less gentle than the first, but easily recognizable and meriting a sigh of relief. She turned to find Agent Lee's concerned eyes searching her own, not yet trained well enough to read the myriad of emotions that played within their seemingly devoid depths, never would be, no matter how far up the spy ladder the younger agent climbed.

At any other time and even under circumstances far less ordinary than these, Sydney would have been able to snatch a smile out of the air and paste it onto her face, capable of convincing the world that everything was okay with a simple upturning of the corners of her mouth. But her fingers were slippery today; she couldn't keep her grip long enough for anything resembling a smile to stay within her fingertips and spring to her lips. If she had, everyone would have been amazed by her strength and resolve… except for one person. But he was not here to give her away, to worm his way through the minutest of cracks in her façade, chip the fake smile from her lips and somehow unveil a real one beneath it…

There must have been some part of Sydney's brain that was still functioning normally, because she was still breathing, still standing; was able to hold out her arm and catch Ilya as he dove into her embrace. Her eyes swept the room, finding her father and a dozen other agents before returning to the young woman who still stood before her.

"He's all right."

The three words had been spinning so rapidly through Sydney's head that they must have hit on the right combination of nerves and muscles to whistle them into speech. She stated them simply, suddenly; only realizing that she had when she tasted their echo floating through the air.

"… opy that… proaching the warehouse…"

"I'm sure he is," Lee nodded, trying to offer a small smile to the agent she still revered above all others, even more so with this recent discovery of actual feeling and emotion beneath what she had previously thought to be a superhuman front.

But that tiny grin of reassurance was swiftly and viciously torn from the younger woman's lips and flung across the room as a sudden surge of thunder growled hungrily, swallowing all other noise and action. Goosebumps sprung up on Sydney's skin, the younger cousins of the chill that began as a tingle deep within her and snapped suddenly up her spine, nearly knocking all air from her lungs. A few shouts of alarm from the more easily startled agents intermingled with gasps and quick intakes of air. All those sounds had to be read in facial expressions and movement, were completely obliterated by the crashing explosion that rocked the room, riddled with gaps of static that created an oddly warped, wave-like sensation, only made the clamor of the blast seem that much more deafening when it once again assaulted their ears.

It seemed like years before the roar finally gave away to the humming of static, which, in the aftermath of the explosion now mingled so well with silence that it became just as much a part of it as their own breaths and heartbeats. In reality, it had only been seconds, a few blinks of the eye and shuddering breaths from those who even remembered how to breathe, a numbing and fiery stillness for those who hadn't; but no one would have argued if someone had claimed it had furiously rumbled for years.

Even in the CIA Operations Center, where sudden surprises were expected and angry explosions usually taken as lightly as sugar with morning coffee, it took a moment for life and functionality to slowly schlep their way back. Jack's almost frighteningly calm voice stood as the trigger, breathing life into every last body in the room and jumpstarting the busy hum of activity.

"Alpha Team, report in. What's your status?"

"One… ossibly two down… ajor struct… al damage t… building... s no way anyone… ould have survived that blast…"

"Copy that, Alpha Team."

"Requesting… ermission to… vestigate."

"Affirmative; permission granted. Proceed with caution."

Ilya clung to Sydney so tightly that she was actually beginning to feel the pain; she wouldn't remember where the bruises came from when she took a shower the next morning, but had given up trying to remember the origin of her wounds long ago. The child's skull was digging into her shoulder, but the tiny whimpers that managed to make themselves heard were not provoked by pain.

"He's all right," she repeated in a whisper, hugging the child almost as desperately, as if she had nothing else. She didn't know whether the words were for the little boy, the young agent who still stood before her, or simply her own reassurance, but suddenly she wished she hadn't left Gabriel with Charlotte, that she had both her little boys in her arms and the older woman beside her. "I know him. He's all right."

Surely she would have felt something if he had been killed: a heaving, gut-wrenching nausea; the violent stabbing of her heart being ripped into shreds and torn from her body; the snapping of her connection to him, as if she had been cut from her tether to life… something, anything… But all that was there was the queasy uneasiness of having no idea where he was or what sort of danger had found him.

He was all right. He had to be… Because he… he wouldn't, couldn't leave her… Could he?

* * *

"Vaughn!"

Somewhere a few hundred yards back, he had stopped trying to pay attention to the shrieking hisses and gruff voices that buzzed over his com-link. He had tuned out any and all sound that wasn't somehow her, until even his own heartbeat spelled her name. For a split second, he could swear that he had heard her voice serenading him, knew that it must have been the wind, a trick of his suddenly cruel imagination because…

"What… _ell_ are… ou doing?"

But there was no mistaking the anxiety clanging through her voice, so close to anger that he could feel its heat simmering in his ears. And he wouldn't have dreamed the crackling static that severed her harsh whisper into jagged pieces, would have willed her voice to come through as perfectly as his own breaths; it would have been all that could have reminded him that it was necessary to breathe.

"Syd?" As her name broke from his lips, he thought he could hear her sigh on the other end, the relief this sound brought him making every muscle in his body quiver, nearly so overwhelming that it was rattling his bones and he was sure Bykov would hear it… "I had to go, Sydney. To protect you and the boys…"

"You told m…d be _careful_."

The way she said the words, her emphasis on 'careful' as if she had had to spit it out, to keep its poison from sullying her veins, nearly pained him. Vaughn forced himself to ignore its stinging ache, continuing onward and leaving it all behind. He would have stopped; that one word, the simple sound of her voice would have ordinarily been enough, but…

"I am. I will be. Syd, I – I have an instinct about this, about where he is. I have to find him, to get him."

It was becoming a sickness, had grown from simple want to the more strong desire, barreling straight past need and into something he had absolutely no control over. If Sydney had broken down at that moment, begged him to stop being a fool, to come back to her and the boys, he would have listened, would have used every cell, nerve and muscle that he had any control over in an effort to bring his ever-marching feet to a halt. He would have tried his damndest… but he probably wouldn't have succeeded.

"Please, Vau…"

There was the plea he had been waiting for and dreading, shredded not by static, but the sudden cessation of speech, as if razor-sharp claws had reached down her throat, tearing the words from her before they had had a chance to make themselves heard. A sudden swell of panic crested within him, nearly bowling him over with its intensity but still not strong enough to keep his legs from carrying him forward. He would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to her because he had fallen prey to his own emotion, if she…

"Syd?"

Two seconds without an answer would have been more than enough to drive him mad, as his mind sprinted heedlessly after his imagination, struggling just to keep it within view. He never knew how he was able to let that amount double once, twice, three times before hearing her voice. Something that sounded like it could have been his name reached his ears, but it wasn't her; he had committed her exact tone to memory long before even realizing he had loved her, and this…

"Daddy?"

Vaughn froze. A moment ago, he wouldn't have been able to stop his muscles even if he had tried, and now even attempting to fathom how to get them moving again would have been like trying to recreate Einstein's Theory of Relativity using only a dull Number Two pencil, half a sheet of notebook paper and an entirely skewed set of measurements.

"Who… who was that?"

Somehow, as he fumbled for the words, something clicked and his body allowed him to take in his surroundings. He wasn't sure why he hadn't noticed before, could only see it now, but didn't question as his eyes jumped over the drab, nondescript building; fences, garage-like doors, partially broken storage crates and large metal drums…

A warehouse. Perhaps not _the_ warehouse, not _their_ warehouse, but still enough to send him lurching on the razor-like edges of memories, his skin already tingling as Sydney gave her answer.

"Ilya."

He took a breath, shuddering as the air wrestled its way into his body, searching for words to empower and not finding them ready. He could see what he had been blinded to before, understood why killing Bykov wouldn't have meant a damn thing if he wasn't alive to tell the tale, to return to Sydney and gather her into his arms, to one day pile their children onto his lap and explain to them how their mommy and daddy had loved them so much that…

"Do not move, Mr. Vaughn."

Ordinarily, this would have been a direct invitation to do otherwise, to somehow sneak a kick, a punch, a glance, even, at the unknown shadow looming over him. A rough hand reached for his comm.-link and wrenched it from his ear, dropping it to be pulverized beneath the heel of a boot before returning its fierce grip to Vaughn's shoulder. Vaughn didn't recognize the voice, but could place the accent: Russian, matching the make of the pistol that was suddenly digging into the flesh at the base of his skull, the click of the safety being removed all that was needed to give both it and its owner away.

"Bykov."

"The pleasure is mine," the voice growled in an English that was so heavily accented, the words nearly slurred together to make a language of their own, a soft dangerous hissing that too closely resembled a snake's for comfort. His painful grip did not relinquish as his topic of conversation took a drastic turn. "She loved him, you know."

"Who?" Vaughn spat, the word dropping as if it had had to spring from a tongue that had not tasted water in years, seeming to scratch blood from his lips as its sandpaper-like edges forced their way out.

"Devora," came the answer, Bykov's lips almost vibrating against his ear. "Loved him like her own son. She loved Katja, too, in her own way, thought that taking care of the little brat would make up for the fact that she sent her own daughter to her death. She was smart, the little bitch. I did not find out about her plans until the day before our scheduled operation."

The pressure on Vaughn's shoulder disappeared as the barrel of the pistol scraped across his face; Bykov slowly stepped in front of him, the gun halting on Vaughn's forehead. Vaughn would have recognized him anywhere: the smirking eyes, the leering lips, the livid scar that sliced right through them…

"Talks in her sleep," he continued with a snort of what could have been laughter, eyes glinting dangerously. "But I am sure you know how that is. Tell me," he snarled, leaning in closer, "has your precious Sydney relayed anything to you during those long nights? Alternate mission specs? A weapons cache you were not aware of? A secret lover, perhaps?"

Vaughn's eyes darkened, his thus far carefully contained anger bubbling to the surface. He swallowed, trying to reel the rapid rush of red back in, knowing that his grip on rationality was sliding with each passing second, that he stood less of a chance of coming out of this alive. Thoughts of Sydney kept him sane, kept him quiet, kept his gray matter safely encased within his skull instead of sprayed haphazardly onto the asphalt…

The corners of Bykov's scarred lips curved even further upwards, gaining strength from the momentary escape of Vaughn's emotion, the propane that fueled his words to fire. "I am sure she must have whispered something once or twice. Maybe that one night about two weeks after you had returned little Ilya to the clutches of that devil woman, when you brought her to the heights of pleasure… how many times was it? Nine? Ten? Even _I_ was impressed. I did not know you Americans had that sort of patience…"

Vaughn felt the color drain from his face as the memory crept its way back to him. Two weeks after… He could picture it exactly: the weather, her dress, even what she had ordered for dinner (although thoughts of his own meal and attire escaped him completely). They had still been reveling in the fact that they were going to be parents, had discussed plans for their wedding, everything that a normal, giddily in love couple would have.

They had been insatiable, still were now, but that night… He had barely been able to keep his hands to himself in the restaurant, had moved his chair next to hers because the length of the table had been too long, the centerpiece had kept getting in his way. They hadn't been able to make it to the bed when they had finally walked through the front door, and had still had yet to close their eyes in sleep when the sun had risen the next morning. Even _he_ had lost count that night, but Bykov…

"Why you sick son of a…"

Metal was suddenly digging into his skull with such ferocity that it would surely leave a bruise. Vaughn stopped mid-sentence, not because that specific metal object happened to be one which could render him dead in less than a heartbeat, he didn't give a damn about his own life; but he couldn't leave Sydney, couldn't let his little boy grow up without a father, or…

Bykov was laughing now, a deep, throaty rumble that made Vaughn want to reach inside his chest and extract the man's lungs with his bare hands. Every breath that both he and that sorry excuse for a man took made that option seem more and more viable and the urge to perform it less and less likely to control.

"You have to be more careful of who you let into your apartment: delivery boys, the plumber, exterminators…" Bykov paused for a moment, waiting to gauge his victim's reaction, wanting his next line to sting more than anything else he had said. "And that bastard child of yours had such a promising life ahead of him..."

"If you go anywhere _near_ my son," Vaughn whispered menacingly, not even waiting for the monster's words to trail off as he fingered his CIA-issued rifle, willing to risk taking a bullet in the head as long as he was able to embed one deep within this madman's heart first. "I'll…"

"You will already be dead," Bykov stated simply, evidently deciding that he had enough amusement and nodding toward Vaughn's gun. "Drop your weapon."

"I could kill you right now."

The raw venom oozing from Vaughn's words shocked even himself, must have been gathered from the bits of saliva sprayed upon him from Bykov's mouth and infused with the fury and passion that was still roiling deep within him. If Bykov was taken aback for a moment, he was able to continue unfazed; his own rage, after all, had had far more time to boil out of control, was irrupting from every pore on his body and mingling with perspiration.

"She _loved_ him and she _betrayed_ me. He _will_ die, right alongside the precious girl you were meant to marry and your own little boy. I can kill you right now and spend the rest of my life haunting your fiancée's nightmares while she waits for her turn. One way or another, you will all die. There are dozens of men ready to finish what I have started. I am not alone here, you know…"

"Yeah, well neither is he."

Vaughn could honestly swear, with his hand over his heart and upon a thousand stacks of bibles, that he had never been as glad to hear Weiss' voice as he was at that moment. This outpouring of relief was alarmingly temporary, however; too many people had been put in danger already, and... "Weiss, get the hell out of…"

A shouted jumble of Russian stormed through him, stampeding over whatever other words he would have spoken. Seemingly out of nowhere, although part of his brain reminded him that they could have easily hidden behind the barrels and boxes strewn outside the warehouse, the Yudin brothers materialized and flew into action. Ioakim held Weiss at close-range gunpoint and had grabbed his headset before Vaughn had had the chance to take another breath. Sacha stood close behind his brother and an echoed snarling told Vaughn that their canine companion was not far off.

"You are outnumbered," Bykov growled, backing Vaughn angrily towards the warehouse wall before his demeanor suddenly changed and a malicious grin wreaked havoc on his already criminal facial features. "Although, I suppose we could even the ranks a bit…"

Without warning, he took his weapon from Vaughn's head and fired two quick shots, swiftly spinning and yanking Vaughn's rifle out of his stunned hands before he had a chance to react. Held at gunpoint once again, this time without the luxury of his own weapon, Vaughn watched as Sacha Yudin tumbled to the ground, his dark blood clouding a rainbow-glazed puddle, the scent of burning flesh mingling with that of oil and gasoline. Ioakim smirked and muttered something unintelligible, slowly circling around Weiss to spit on his brother's dead body.

"He said he should have done that years ago," Bykov translated with a laugh. "Now, hand over your weapon, Mr. Weiss."

So many scenes and scattered incidents passed before Vaughn's eyes in that quarter of a second that he had no idea how he was able to grab onto one and make sense of it, didn't know why out of all the moments he could have been reliving, might have wanted to see before they all ended forever, _this_ was the one that…

_Throw the gun, make him reach for it…_

He couldn't think of a way to make Weiss understand, his mind's failsafe clicking in and setting to automatic shutdown. He tried desperately to grab onto a thread of coherent thought, to think of a plan, but the scraping of metal against asphalt brought all attempts to a screeching halt.

Even given a dozen instant replays, each slowed more than the next, and all the time in the world to ponder the intricacies of them, Vaughn would still not have been able to describe what happened next. As Weiss' weapon skidded across the ground and Ioakim reached for it, something inside of Vaughn snapped, his animal instincts smothered any fiber of rationality and he transformed from man into ravenous beast: rabidly waiting for the kill, hell-bent on protecting his mate and their young, would do anything and everything within his power and beyond to…

The smacking and scraping of skin against skin, metal and blacktop; heavy boots splashing in puddles of oil and rainwater; the dog's jaws snapping and sinking deep into the flesh at the back of his thigh; grunting, gasping, shouting, snarling; even the stink of blood, as it trickled from them all, mingling with sweat and dirt and the thunder of bullets being fired....

Each noise, no matter how large or small, each scent, every sight and those few sensations that crept their way through his suddenly numbed exterior added jarring notes and chords to a frightening soundtrack he had never heard or felt before: a rhapsody in urgent reds and raucous blacks as sound and sense and emotion and thought alternately fused together and were ripped violently apart.

_… Be careful…I need you to tell me…Bahn… You're going to be a… You told me you'd be careful… I couldn't fall asleep without you… How was work?... Be careful… Vaughn, I… Daddy?..._

"Mike! _No_!"

Weiss' words echoed in his ears a few moments after they had been spoken, at the same time he felt the familiar metal of a weapon back in his hands, saw Sacha Yudin facedown in a puddle of blood and…

But the bullets spewed from his barrel in rapid succession, surprising Bykov as they whizzed right by him, following the trickling path of liquid from Sacha's corpse to the not-so-carefully stacked pyramid of metal drums waiting against the wall of the warehouse.

Vaughn felt a soft and heavy weight being slammed against his body, heard the surrounding sounds soar into a shrieking crescendo as a hand yanked on his shirt, pulled him violently underneath something that he couldn't make out, shapes and colors and sights completely losing meaning. Even sound had stopped, melting into a silence he somehow knew was artificial but didn't think to question, couldn't think at all.

All he saw, felt and heard in the instant before a fierce, blistering wave of heat slammed against him, cracking his skull against something that shot sparks before his eyes and quickly fizzled to black…

_I love you, Vaughn._

… was Sydney.

* * *

The seconds quickly spun out of control, multiplying so rapidly that Sydney wouldn't have been surprised if she had blinked and a hundred years had passed. But without Vaughn, a hundred years would have been an eternity in the most blistering corner of hell. Not even two years ago, her vision of hell would have included Arvin Sloane and every upstanding member of the Alliance; as a child her thoughts would have turned to fire and horned demons. It was almost amusing how something so seemingly unchangeable, could change so drastically, without so much as a warning or lingering thought.

Fourteen minutes and thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight, thirty-nine… seconds had passed since the explosion, when it had seemed such a short time ago that she had kissed him goodbye. Surely it hadn't been long enough for all of this to happen, wouldn't have been enough time to laugh through a childish incantation of _supercalifragilisticexpialidocious_ much less put the right letters in order to spell it or lose the only man she had really ever loved…

But it had been and it was… _forty-six one-thousand, forty-seven one-thousand, forty-eight one-thousand_… She passed the time as she had during so many different instances before, counting the seconds as they added one on top of the other, never seeming to be able to make note of the exact time before it changed again.

Fifteen minutes, two, three, four, five… seconds without a word from him and she was already dying. There had been transmissions from the team, punctured with crackles and hisses, those interruptions giving her the hope that she so desperately searched for, helping her believe that she hadn't heard right, that they _weren't_ telling her that there was no sign of him, that bodies had been found… bodies mangled so hopelessly beyond recognition that…

"Sydney."

It sounded like his voice only because she so frantically wanted it to be; deep down she knew that. Knew that she could hear his exact intonation, the multifarious harmony that he was somehow always able to form out of the six letters of her name, weaving the two syllables as no one else could even when he seemed to be saying it no differently than anyone had before him. She knew, as her fingers ran incessantly through Ilya's hair, down his back and up again, that it wasn't Vaughn calling to her. She knew that it couldn't be, because there had been no sign of him; but maybe…

She turned, half hoping to find him smiling down at her, telling her that it had been silly to worry, half knowing that she was a fool to let herself cling to such childish optimism. But somehow, despite all of her agent training and common sense, her naïveté must have won out, because her face fell with a hitching sigh when she found her father's clouded eyes staring into her own.

"Agent Lee needs to take Ilya. Devlin wants to see him," Jack stated flatly, momentarily pulling himself away from the tumult that the Operations Center had seemed to become everywhere else but around his daughter.

Sydney handed the child over without a word, refusing to meet her father's gaze after the initial disappointment his eyes had provided. All things considered, she had behaved beautifully thus far, had followed all the rules perfectly, showing emotion only where and when it was allowed: nowhere and never. But inside, she was barely holding up, hardly able to catch herself as she tripped and tumbled along, toes snagging on one emotion after another, all of them sure to end in tears if she gave in, if she didn't catch herself and…

Jack cleared his throat and her eyes mechanically followed the sound without meaning to, bumping against her father's. She was startled by the whirlpool she found suddenly swirling within them, too preoccupied to comprehend the war waging within Jack as he tried to decide whether to play the part of a father or remain in his role of dutiful Director of Operations.

"I'm sure Vaughn is…"

"Dad… don't…" Sydney stopped him, the emotion catching in her voice, her gaze turning stern to counter it. She choked on the _please_ that she had meant to follow, and the word never left her lips.

Even without it, Jack nodded, looked for a moment as if he would hug her, gather her onto his lap and into his arms as he hadn't done since she was a little girl. But he held back, squeezing her shoulder as he turned toward the voices that were calling for _Director Bristow_, immediately snapping back to his usual stoic self and barking orders left and right.

She understood now.

Understood what she had tried to before, but could never seem to grasp, what he had tried to explain to her that one night so long ago when he had held her tightly and whispered about the agony he felt whenever she was on her missions, when she had told him not to worry, that she would never leave him…

It was no wonder she hadn't been able to get it. There was no way Vaughn would have been able to paint this picture to her that night, or even over the course of the hundreds of others they had spent together since then. The waiting, the utter powerlessness, the way hearing became the only sense you even remembered you had, the mind filling in the blanks behind closed eyelids, disgorging pictures from books, television, nightmares you couldn't remember having but were far too vivid to have been made up on the spot.

There were no colors in life that matched those that filled the spaces between the sounds: misery and despair couldn't be found in a Crayola box, there were no finger charts for any instrument that would reveal the notes and chords of anguish. Every sound that had broken through the static, every breath that had whispered in her ear was bliss, something far too precious, that she hadn't realized the value of until it had been suddenly wrenched away.

Vaughn had always told her how he loved the sound of her voice; it was something she had always thought had been one of his many little quirks, one of the thousand pieces of perfection that he seemed always able to pluck from nowhere and hand to her. She had always been able to return the compliment with truth and intensity, hadn't realized that she couldn't have cleaved to the same amount of passion, that her words might have been the same but they couldn't have been spoken in the same way…

She understood now, as his voice weaved in and out of her head, pealing in her ears, saying her name, mission information, a simple thank you, singing the lullaby, whispering, murmuring, laughing, breathing French just as he would late at night…

_Sydney, Sydney, __Sydney__…_

"Sydney…"

She wanted to clap her hands over her ears and hum as loud as she could, would do anything to stop it from echoing louder, so perfectly that she swore every last person in the room could hear it. It was tugging at her head, trying to push her body in the other direction, but she didn't want to turn, didn't want to fall for it, not again. But her body turned itself around, not listening to the shrieking of her heart and mind as they tried to stop its motion. Her eyes closed as if that could make it all go away, as if by blocking her sight, this nightmare would end and she would awaken safely tangled in his embrace.

She squeezed her eyes shut as tight as she could so that all light and color was quickly extinguished and nothing could make its way in or out. Because she knew that when she opened them and didn't find him there, she wouldn't be able to catch herself this time; she would trip, and the tears would fall…


	13. Spate

Rhapsody

Chapter 13: Spate

* * *

Somewhere amidst sensation and thought, some as nonsensical as an infant's prattle, others just as crystal clear, she lost all track of time and reason. Sydney could remember fifteen if she tried, if she cared enough to try, that is. Fifteen minutes and five seconds, a measurement that meant no more than a few seconds added to a quarter of an hour, carried the world with it since it was the last number she had before the ability to count had traipsed away from her. And all she knew now was that it had been more than that, more than fifteen minutes and five seconds since…

More than enough time to start hearing his ghost, to be haunted by something she had thought she would always have; always wanted to remember, but never wanted to have only as a memory.

She didn't think that she must have looked ridiculous, even frightening, to those agents who were so used to the Sydney Bristow they had seen in action and heard such heroic tales about: the one who hadn't flinched in the line of fire or batted an eyelash when a bomb detonated a mere three feet from where she had been standing, had somehow jumped from the tenth story of a building and not received a scratch. There was no way this fractured and so-close-to-breaking woman could have been their heroine, would have been able to go anywhere near danger without flitting away faster than a mouse.

With her eyes squeezed shut and her jaw set to hold in shrieks and sobs, she had become so suddenly small and vulnerable, looked painfully like a little girl, crouching by her bedside with a hand poised, afraid to lift the blankets and see what monsters lurked underneath. The lightning of cruel reality had struck her dumb, leaving her burnt and motionless, stripped of every thread of reason and at the disposal of whatever sensations took the fancy to wash over her.

Without the power of sight, it was impossible to tell which were real and which were not, each feeling adding itself to the confused snarl that increased in size and complexity as the moments wore on. Hissing static became Gabriel's hungry cry, the surrounding agents murmured her name in Vaughn's voice, reached their hands out to touch her like only he could, and then seemed to be tugging at her hair as the grade school boys had done so long ago.

His voice was still echoing, teasing, taunting, beckoning to her as the shimmering oasis does to the parched desert traveler, promising thirst-quenching paradise, but always seeming a few too many steps away. When the spectral whisper of his fingertips joined it, she had to fight to keep the tears from seeping past her closed eyelids. She still didn't want to open her eyes, didn't want to find herself with a mouthful of sand, even thirstier than she had been before, and this time, devoid of even the tiniest glimmer of hope, all that would have kept her moving through heat and sun, reminded her to breathe, to eat, to live.

Sometime in what could have only been a few seconds, she must have whispered his name, calling to him and begging him to respond, to tell her that this was real, not a dream or a nightmare, that it was safe to open her eyes. She couldn't hear anything past the blood rushing in her ears, didn't know whether she truly had called out to him or not, if it would have been loud enough for him to hear if she had.

After that solitary lapse into what might have been speech, her mouth snapped shut to prevent the escape of sobs, and without the assistance of any other semi-reliable senses, she was left only with touch, could still feel the phantom of his fingertips traveling down her cheekbone, coming to rest at her chin and propping it up as he had so many times before…

Without warning, Sydney was hurtled backwards through time, passing all the moments of the past year in less than the instant it took to gasp half a lungful of air. They had been in the warehouse then; him, standing by the fence and her seated at the table, hand on her forehead to hold her head up. There had been an explosion then, too. In Sweden, she remembered; one that had killed half a dozen of their agents. She was supposed to have stopped it; she had set it, too, but she was supposed to have stopped it. She hadn't been able to reach it in time.

She remembered telling Vaughn what had happened, just as she would have at any other debriefing, explaining in a flat, emotionless tone that she was the one who had killed those four men and two women, the six agents who had been defending their country, had been blown away because of one mistake, one woman not quick enough to defuse the bomb she herself had set.

The next few minutes were a blur. There was something about SD-6 and then the CIA's plans for the agents' burials. There were tears that had flooded, not only to mourn the so recent turn of events, but because she had been holding them in for far too long. There was Vaughn's hand on her shoulder, his arms around her and then…

The world had stopped and nothing had mattered. His lips had traveled from the top of her head, where they could have been accidentally placed as he had held her, down her cheek where they might have been merely another attempt at comfort, and had trailed across and attached to her own with such gentle insistence that there could be no mistaking his intentions, that this hadn't been simply about comfort anymore.

There had barely been any pressure at first, and if he had pulled away when he had first tried to, Sydney would have thought that she had imagined the entire thing. Vaughn may have been willing to write it all off as a mistake, but she hadn't allowed it, pulling him closer, running her fingers up and down his arms and back.

There had been no use denying what they had both wanted for so long. There had been no way she would have been able to forget the feel of his lips after that first touch. Sydney had tasted paradise before; she had felt love and had had it returned to her. With Danny she had had all those things; but after his death, after her life had been ripped from her, chewed up and spat violently back into her body, she had never thought she would have felt like this again.

The tingling of something too much and not enough, the uncontrollable craving, the way she had been more aware of every sensation than she had ever been, but still her body had not felt like her own… It was hard to remember, hard to describe. Even then it had been, immediately afterwards, her mind still reeling; later as she had nodded off to the first good night of sleep that she had gotten in weeks; all those nights and days that had followed, when she hadn't had him by her side...

While she stood in the Operations Center, eyes still shut tightly, she tried so hard to capture everything: every feeling, sensation, those few thoughts that had rattled their way through her mind, no matter what they had been. She would have thought it impossible; it all seemed so long ago, and there had been so many kisses since then that had rivaled that one in sweetness and far outdone it in lust and passion, that it could have easily been lost in ranks.

But suddenly time and numbers no longer mattered. All that did was the jogged memory of his lips against hers for that very first time: a whispering pressure that almost disappeared as her hands reached out and tugged him closer; the gentle, quivering caresses as if he weren't sure she would want this as much as he did; her mouth opening to him, letting a sigh escape with the torrent of emotion and a muffled sob that she couldn't remember being there that first time.

She had been scared, even then, she had been frightened beyond anything that she would open her eyes and all of it would have disappeared; she would have been in her bed, in class, on a plane… anywhere but in his arms. She remembered the explosive mixture of fear, relief, passion and doubt; all of it, everything.

But she didn't remember her body shaking as it was now, as if something volatile had been pent up for too long and was struggling to escape, to pull her over the edge with it and into tears. And even though she could recall him being just as gentle as he had been then, there was something here that was bordering on weakness, as if she were truly the one holding him up, as if he were struggling to gather enough air to keep himself standing and…

"Vaughn…"

Sydney didn't seem to be the master of any of her muscles today, and her eyes opened of their own accord, shutting again instantaneously with the relieved shock of finding him before her, his name half smothered by his lips as they pressed softly against hers, unable to get enough and peppering her face with kisses before pulling away, gasping for breath.

She wasn't able to open her eyes again as her face buried itself in his chest, not caring about the dirt and blood that stained his tattered clothing. His scent, something in between rapture and ardor that she had never quite sensed anywhere else, lingered beneath ash, oil and gunpowder, the reek of danger and the scent of _I almost lost you_. She wanted to look at him, to ask if he was all right, to see for herself, to find out what had happened, but…

"Syd…" His voice was gasping, wheezing from more than just the aftermath of his assault on her lips, churning with raw emotion and flooding relief. "Are you okay?"

How he was able to find those words before she did was beyond her; she was still struggling in her search for something more than just his name. His thumb was caressing her cheek, and her arms were around him so tightly that it must have pained him, especially in the condition that he was sure to be in; but he hadn't complained, wouldn't have even if the pain had been excruciating, worse than thousands of nails driving into all the tenderest points in his body. He was content simply to hold her, never wanted to let her go.

With a shaking sigh, she ventured a look up at him, found his eyes greeting her own, unchanged despite everything, shining through the wounds and filth on his face. "Vaughn, you're…"

Her sentence halted, her mind sparking to overload with options for finishing it; some too painful to give breath to, others too obvious, not a one that seemed just right. _Back, bruised, beautiful, bleeding, broken_… If only there were on word to encompass all of that and so much more. But to search for it would have been useless; even if she were somehow able to find it, after using it this once, she would loathe it, would never want to have occasion to even think of it again.

An ugly gash ripping across his forehead was sure to be the source of the sticky crimson that smeared his face, littered with dirt and ash, all three of which she was surprised she hadn't tasted a moment ago when his lips had been on hers. She didn't think to run her hand across her mouth to erase the residue, was too involved in trying to discover every last contusion that lay hidden beneath the blood, searching the rest of him for any sign of injury without moving any further out of his arms. Had she dared to open her eyes earlier, seen the way he hobbled across the room to be with her, pain and determination scribbled onto his face, it might have pushed her over the top; as it was, all this was enough, almost too much.

"I'm fine."

She shook her head, unable to do anything else. She wished she could find it within her to scream, to sob, to do anything that would ease the tidal wave of emotions pitching through her, to save her from being dragged beneath by the undertow. Couldn't he see that the hitching harshness of his voice, too soft even for a whisper, was evidence in itself of something other than fine? That each of his short breaths was shaking both their bodies, and, for once, she was physically holding him up more than he was her?

"I have you… and the boys… You're all safe."

It was so slight that it crept up almost unnoticeably; and perhaps it was only due to the proximity of her ear to his lungs, but Sydney noticed the nearly imperceptible changes in his breathing, how it was slowly worsening instead of getting better. She loosened her arms and tried to pull away, not wanting to put any more pressure than necessary on his suddenly fragile ribs and lungs. But while he allowed her to loosen her grip, he held her close, seemingly more afraid of losing her than she had been of losing him, quickly capturing her lips in a chaste kiss that still left him gasping.

"Vaughn…" she began carefully, truly getting nervous now, wondering how she could have been so stupid as to let him stand there and hold her up, to forget his needs for her own. But she caught the gleam in his eye, the promise that he was all right for the moment, would tell her if anything changed; a plea for her to let him have these few minutes. Sydney believed and trusted him, would do anything for him, and quickly amended her statement to fit their silent accord. "What happened?"

"I don't know," he finally confessed, the few moments he had spent trying to come up with an answer proving fruitless. There were bits and pieces floating aimlessly through his mind, but other than that, nothing was there. "Bykov found me… had me cornered… and Weiss…"

"Where is he?" she asked quickly, nervously, ashamed that she hadn't thought of it earlier and suddenly remembering that they weren't alone, that the room around them was buzzing with activity, not a place for such shows of emotion as they had just exhibited.

Vaughn nodded toward a group of agents, including her father, and Sydney noticed that Weiss was at the hub of this circle. He quickly caught his friend's eye and extricated himself from the group. His left arm hung limply at his side, and, like Vaughn, his face was marred with blood and bruises, but the majority of the former seemed to have streamed from his nose and mouth, the lack of a head wound putting him in much better condition than his friend.

"You know," he began seriously, his eyes jumping from Vaughn to Sydney and back again, "I considered following the rules, not going after you and letting you get _yourself_ into trouble this time." He smiled wryly and continued. "But I figured that by trying to get your ass out of trouble, I actually had better odds of surviving. If I had come home alive and you hadn't, Sydney would have kicked the shit out of me. And that was something I _really_ didn't want to have to face."

Sydney couldn't help but crack a smile, moving out of the way so that Vaughn could carefully embrace his friend with one arm while still holding her in the other and wheeze a quiet, "Thank you, Eric."

"Don't mention it, man," Weiss responded as he pulled away. "Now _you_ owe _me_. And I plan to use all the vacation time I get out of this to figure out ways you can pay me back."

Sydney shifted gingerly into Vaughn as Weiss spoke, allowing him to lean more of his weight against her. He pulled her closer, pausing a moment to sigh into her neck, and she reveled in the fact that he still had life and breath to hold her, had come back to watch their son grow. The two men exchanged a few more words, piecing together bits of the story while Sydney interjected a question or two at appropriate moments, becoming more and more comfortable in Vaughn's embrace as the conversation began to dwindle.

None of them felt Jack's eyes on them, saw them soften or the corner of his mouth curve upwards in the tiniest, most fleeting of smiles. "Weiss," he called, not moving from his position a few feet away. "I need the rest of your mission details."

"But I already…" Weiss stopped, raising an eyebrow as he caught Jack's glare and quickly following his line of vision to face Sydney and Vaughn. "Oh… Gotcha."

He followed Jack to a far corner of the room as the older agent looked over his shoulder and smiled at his daughter. Sydney returned it gratefully, wanting to run and thank her father, but not having the courage to leave Vaughn's side. She stood unmoving in his embrace, finally tilting her head to listen to him breathe; his breaths were short and cautiously controlled, but had slowly begun to steady. Her fingers trailed tenderly along Vaughn's chest, brushing against the cloth of his shirt, but not pressing any harder, lest they land on some hidden wound.

"You should sit down," she murmured after a moment. "And we should get you something for that gash before…"

Vaughn shook his head slowly, closing his eyes when even that slight motion seemed to dizzy him, hoping that the stars and spots wouldn't continue to sparkle behind his eyelids. He knew, as she fluidly moved to steady him, that Sydney would see through the gesture, that he wouldn't be able to fool her so easily.

"Not yet."

"But you have to get to the hospital."

"I need to see Gabriel first."

"Your mother, Vaughn," Sydney tried to argue softly. "Seeing you like this will…"

"I think," Vaughn interrupted quietly, pressing his fingers against her lips to silence her and smiling sardonically, "that my mother is much more… used to this than we give her credit for… Please, Syd… I have to see them. All of them."

Sydney agreed, but only because she could never refuse him such a simple request, not when it was all that he had fought so hard not to lose. Without a word, she led him from the room, wincing as he limped alongside her. He was leaning on her carefully so as not to hurt her, but the ache that wormed its way through her being did not stem from any physical pain; rather, it began with the gnawing of guilt and sorrow on the most tender, secret places deep in the backs of her mind and heart.

Someone shoved a first-aid kit in Sydney's free hand on her way out the door. She felt her fingers wrap around the handle and knew at once what it was, whispering a thank you, but never knowing to whom. She wouldn't let her eyes leave Vaughn for more than a quarter of a second, watching as he put one foot slowly in front of the other so that she would be ready to catch him if he should fall.

Vaughn didn't question as their straight course down the hallway took a sudden turn, letting Sydney pull open the door to the men's room and steer him inside. Neither of them noticed the strange looks that its few occupants gave them before hastily leaving, or would have cared if they had. Unable to find a better seat, Sydney eased Vaughn to the floor, helping him lean against the wall. Not a word was spoken while she ran the water over a cloth and tenderly began to wash the blood and grime from his face.

She was barely halfway through when she had to stop. There had been hundreds of events and emergencies before this one that she had greeted with gritted teeth and a level head; she didn't know why she was breaking today. Other times, there had been other reasons: near lethal combinations of stress, exhaustion and caged emotions; death; pregnancy hormones; SD-6…

But here, today, it had just been another operation, one that had in many ways ended more smoothly than dozens of others. Still, there was just something that…

_I think I can pull out the crystal without touching the lasers._

_Want me to do it?__ My hands are pretty steady._

_So are mine._

It was strange how she remembered that at this instant, felt the look they had exchanged, the weight of the pliers and the tingle of his fingers brushing against hers as he handed her the tool. Her hands were quivering so uncontrollably now that she would have completely botched that mission, blown the whole of SD-6 to the ground, and her and Vaughn along with it. It was as if all control had been drained from her, slowly slipping through the cracks until its loss became near frightening, enough for her to finally notice.

"Syd?"

She knew which words to speak, but they were caught in her throat. Each breath lodged them deeper within her, as they wrestled against every attempt or even thought of speech, mocking her with tears, threatening to chip loose the sobs that were building in her lungs and free them in one howling wail of anguish. Forcing herself to take a deep, calming breath, glancing at Vaughn as he watched her carefully, she let her fingers gently dance over his own, waiting for her words to come to life.

When it finally did break free, her voice was softer than a sigh, its sweet harshness evidence of its struggle to escape without letting the tears follow. "I thought I lost you."

Vaughn took her hand and placed it against his lips, planting a kiss on her palm before responding, his words vibrating against her skin and through her veins. "Me too."

They sat like that for a moment; Vaughn slumped against the wall and Sydney crouching beside him, her palm against his lips and his breath washing over her in waves. The soothing ecstasy of that instant was undeniable, mingled in the wake of a heady sensation that was as close to heaven as one could get without leaving the ground. Sydney could have stayed like that forever, never moving a muscle so long as he was close by her, content to remain frozen for a thousand forevers.

But while it may seem to, time does not stop in moments like these. Sanity and reality eventually crept their way through the haze of euphoria, bringing with them glimpses of the blood, his blood, that now stained both their bodies. Sydney took her hand from his and went back to work on his face, silently keeping tally of the bruises she uncovered as she went, denying the impulsive urge to kiss each and every one of them until they gradually faded away.

"It's how you felt every time," she murmured after a moment, glancing quickly into his eyes, but losing the nerve to keep her own there. "Isn't it?"

He closed his eyes and sighed in answer, wishing there could have been a way to evade this issue forever, live in a blissful semi-ignorance, with all the benefits of knowledge that this revelation had brought them, without any of its biting aftermath. "That doesn't matter now."

But she wouldn't relent, not even when he sat before her like this, when they were on the floor of the men's lavatory: him, bleeding; both of them broken. There were some things that didn't have a proper time or place, needed to be spoken as they presented themselves before the heart and mind gave in to cowardice and bottled them back up, losing them forever. She opened the first aid kit and extracted the alcohol, busying herself to keep her own words from stinging. "Like your body was being ripped…"

"… ripped in half – " he admitted softly, his whisper splintered by a slight gasp of pain as Sydney swabbed at his forehead with the alcohol.

"Sorry…" she mumbled mechanically, the word falling through a crack in the conversation but not breaking it. "Half doesn't even begin to…" she trailed off and frowned, watching new blood trickle steadily from the gash that she had just wiped clean. "This is deep, Vaughn. What did you hit it on?"

Vaughn didn't try this time, knew that maybe later he would find some sense in the random flashes, put the pieces into order. For now, all that was there was Bykov's words, a rush of panic and adrenaline, the earth-shattering thunder that had spat fire in his direction and painted his whole world in black until…

"You'd have to ask Eric."

Silence descended, comfortably veiling them both as she did her best to clean the wound, finally pressing a handful of gauze against it and bringing his hand up to hold it there until she could tape it in place. Wordlessly, she moved down to his leg, helping him stand and gritting her teeth as she tore one leg of his pants apart, attempting to get a better look at the injury she knew would be hiding beneath the already tattered and stained cloth. Her eyes widened with the unwelcome sight of ugly teeth marks that were already darkly bruised, blood still trickling from the ripped holes in his tender flesh. She let out a hissing breath of air, her thoughts catching on the end of it and springing to life.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, hesitantly reaching a finger out and brushing it against the wound to examine it, only feeling him tense with the pain, not realizing that this was coupled with a sigh of relief and contentment, that the touch of her fingers on him, anywhere, even when unintentionally bringing him pain, was exquisite. "For not realizing sooner…"

"Sydney…"

"… For killing a part of you…"

"Stop."

"… every time I…"

Somehow he garnered the strength to pull her up, careful not to wrench her still wounded arm and disregarding his own injuries, not giving a damn about the fiery, stabbing twinge that seemed to start at his heart and tear through his body. Soon that was all but forgotten, nothing more than the gentle ache of a stubbed toe, pulsating somewhere behind all other sensation, not allowed to the forefront of thought.

His fingers were on her face, running across her cheekbone and down her jaw to her chin. He met her eyes, nearly drowning in the remorse that churned within them but staying strong, his words flowing from him between gulps of air.

"When I was there, Syd… Bykov, the bullets, the lies and deception, SD-6… none of that mattered… All I could think of… all I saw… was _you_…"

There had been moments when Sydney had thought she had been speechless before, but they were nothing compared to this. The words had always been there during those instances, skipping and laughing just out of reach, taunting her with their inability to be captured and made to behave. That feeling was a twenty-minute soliloquy to an audience of thousands when compared to this: the complete void of all thought, the fear-provoking emptiness that filled her mind and mouth, leaving nothing to grasp at, no hope of finding a few stray letters to string into words, or a sound or gesture willing to stand in their place.

"He's gone, Syd," Vaughn murmured, watching as a million different emotions clouded her eyes and knowing that she had fallen prey to them, was powerless to respond in any other way than to let them penetrate her and speak to him.

If he were going to tell her of Bykov's threat, to share how they had been watched over the months, hadn't had a night alone since… now would have been the time. It was a revelation that would have shattered all that he had just worked to piece back together, but this would have been the moment for its unveiling, so that she would know the truth just as he did, would not innocently cling to false hope.

But his lips stayed sealed as his bruised and nearly-numb fingers tangled themselves in hair. Perhaps one day he would tell her. Or maybe the secret would stay buried inside him forever; he would let it kill him slowly, day by day, endure the pain of having to keep something, anything from her rather than have to see the look on her face when he told her the truth, crush her spirit for probably the millionth time and cringe as he wondered how much more she could take.

Instead, he cradled her head to his chest, repeating the two words that he had longed to shout out since the beginning, would give the two of them so much hope. "He's gone…"

Sydney pressed a kiss against the hollow of his throat, murmuring what was probably her thousandth _thank you_ and surely wouldn't be her last. His silence served as acceptance; he wouldn't admit that he was suddenly worn out, aching in more places than he had thought existed and starting to see with slightly blurred vision. She seemed to know anyway, let him uphold his front of strength as she pulled away and finished checking him over, cleaning his injuries as best she could with only the supplies of a half-stocked first aid kit and the rough paper towels from the bathroom dispenser.

As they left the room and continued down the hall to Vaughn's office, they were a perfect balance of each others' strengths and weaknesses: he leaned on her more heavily than he had before, but she was easily able to take it, the very weight of him calmed the emotional turmoil that seethed within her, soothing her from anxiety better than anything else could.

When she carefully opened his office door, the notes of that ever-familiar lullaby struck her ears, nearly snapping her back to one of thousands of instants when those same lyrics had enraptured her, the voice singing them, different from the one now, holding her under its spell. Charlotte looked up from her song, ready to greet them with a smile, but any happiness quickly slipped away when the caught a glimpse of her son.

She was at his side in an instant, Gabriel still cradled in one arm as her other hand skimmed over her own little boy's face. "Oh, Michael…"

It was a much better reaction than Sydney would have hoped for, Charlotte's petrified look and crinkled brow disappeared almost as soon as they had melted into existence, replaced with a sad smile as her eyes pierced her son's.

"Your father came home just like this one night," she began, turning so they could walk further into the room and helping Sydney ease Vaughn into a chair. "I was shaking, I was so frightened, but he wouldn't let me take him to the hospital, not until he had seen you. You were barely three years old at the time, had been asleep for hours, but he insisted."

Charlotte smiled with the memory of her late husband's determination, her eyes glazing over for half an instant as she became lost in a world that seemed so long ago. "Your aunt came to look after you while we went to the hospital; we told both of you that your father had gotten into an accident on the way home from work. You were afraid to ride in the car for weeks afterwards, but you would have been too young to understand the truth…"

Sydney glanced at Vaughn, wondering if he remembered, could feel the fear of a little child living in a too-big world, where there were too many questions to be answered and everything was distorted, seen from down below, only raised momentarily with the help of tiptoes, footstools and strong pairs of arms. A little boy who had listened to a story such as they were hearing now, one of truth, not fantasy, where heroes easily died and the villains could get away, would not have been a little boy any longer, would have been tainted too soon by reality. Children were better off with fairy tales and bedtime stories, the small lies that were fed in place of truths too big to swallow.

"… He told me everything that night, all the little things he had kept from me before. I had known he had worked for the CIA before, but… for the first time, I felt like I was really seeing the man I had married."

A further explanation of this type of revelation wasn't required, the two agents before her having experienced it themselves more times than they cared to count. Mostly, its effects were ghastly, pulling nightmares out of the gloom and into the light where they didn't belong. A few times, it had been tolerable, divulging truths that were better kept out of the dark. Only once it had been deliriously breathtaking, the baring of one soul to another…

"My love for him didn't change," Charlotte added, glancing at them with a smile. "True love doesn't. It endures through everything… But I don't need to tell the two of you that."

"No, Maman," Vaughn whispered softly, sincerely, would have risen from his chair if Sydney's gentle hand on his shoulder hadn't kept him down. "But thank you."

Charlotte tilted her arms, bringing the infant within them to their full attention. "I still cannot get over how perfect this child is," she mused, deftly changing the subject and handing the little boy over as Sydney reached for him. "Or you are, my dear..."

Sydney tried to murmur her thanks but found the words caught in her throat. Her reddened cheeks relayed her thoughts, however; her eyes returning to her child, intent on rememorizing every last one of his features, seeing if anything had changed in the short time she had been away from him. Without Vaughn, she could have eventually found happiness in only their little boy, but would have been scared to death of somehow failing, didn't think she would have been able to raise the child alone.

"… Michael's former taste in women left something to be desired."

Normally, Vaughn would have inserted an embarrassed _Maman__!_ at this point, but after all that had happened that day, he didn't mind, was too busy focusing on his child's nose and lips, the tiny fingers that reached for his own as he let it hover over the boy, afraid to touch him with all the blood and dirt that was caked on his hands. His hand alternately drew closer and flew further away as the all but irresistible inclination to touch the child warred with what little reason he had left.

But Sydney lifted Gabriel so that his father's fingertips brushed against his tiny cheek, putting an end to Vaughn's inner battle. Filth could be washed away at the end of the day. Some things simply mattered more. With the three of them together, it was completion, relief, happiness, uncertainty, love and fear all mixed up and tangled together; the essences of a growing family squeezed out of a jumble of emotions. But still there was something missing, something that…

"Where's Ilya?" Vaughn asked suddenly, taking his eyes from his son for only a moment to meet Sydney's, noticing how hers clouded with confusion as she struggled to grasp the correct answer to this question.

The child had been with her in the Operations Center, she knew that, couldn't forget the sound of his little voice as he had called out to Vaughn, the sight of him struggling with her headphones, his face twisted in concentration. But at times he had seemed no more than extension of herself, merely a comforting weight that had belonged against her shoulder and in her arms; he just seemed to fit so perfectly…

Snuggling Gabriel closer to her, she let the confusion of the Ops Center swim through her mind; she never thought she would have wanted to relive it all so soon. But there it was: the tumult, the static, the calmly and frantically shouted orders; scrambling agents, her father, Ilya and…

"Amy took him," she stated, sighing with relief at the sudden revelation. "Amy Lee. Devlin needed to see him."

No one took the time to process those words as they probably should have. Not that it would have mattered. Ilya was safe within the CIA building, and for the moment that was all that anyone needed to know. Panic and alarm lay panting, had been worn out by the day's events, needed to rest and recharge before they could sense trouble and spring to alert, prickling the mind with fear and haunting thoughts of _what if_…

If one slight reflection of _what if_ was let through their defenses in this state, it would trip the lock and the others would come flooding out in droves, scrambling over each other in their dash to escape, scratching and scraping so that meanings were twisted and outcomes appeared worse than they once might have been: _What if Weiss hadn't shown up?__ What if Bykov isn't dead? What if I had lost you? What if Gabriel is drawn into this life? What if I had never learned the truth…_

They would trail to _wheres_ and _whens_ and _whys_ and _hows_, completely eradicating any chance at normalcy, at a heartbeat that wasn't racing uncontrollably, at a life that wasn't twisted, hurled upside-down and inside out with even the slightest shadow of fear.

Quite frankly, it just wasn't worth it. Not when they were all too aware that time was something precious, that it could be spent in so many better ways. Sydney felt her hand find its way to the curve of Vaughn's neck, his climbing up to join hers there, weaving his fingers with her own. Despite all the questions, all the obstacles and threats, they had found their way back to each other. They always did.

"Michael?"

They both started at the sound of his mother's voice, saw her smile softly at them before continuing. "I know this probably isn't the time, and I don't mean to be rude, but I noticed your calendar sitting on top of your desk, and I see that you have the weekend of the 25th free… If Sydney doesn't mind my help, I think three and a half weeks gives us plenty of time to plan a wedding. Just say the word…"

Sydney's gaze traveled impulsively to the ring that rested on her finger, discovering it hidden by Gabriel's body. But the little boy was a welcome obstruction, and she wiggled her fingers as she held him simply to feel the weight of the metal shift against her skin. Color rose to her cheeks as she considered his mother's offer, wondering what Vaughn would think. Three and a half weeks seemed so soon, but it felt as if they had already waited a lifetime…

Neither of them dared to spoil the moment by answering, seemed to have some unspoken agreement not to let their eyes meet quite yet. It was when Sydney felt his fingers tighten around hers that she knew their answer, perceived the three little letters that seemed to jump from his flesh to hers, barreling through her skin and to her lips.

"Yes."

She paused to let that word work its way through her system, stimulate every single part of her body with its solitary sweetness, bring her back to a moment she could relive very day of her life and never tire of, would simply want to experience it again and again…

_Really?___

_Yes, really…__ And not just because of the baby… Syd… Ever since I kissed you, ever since I met you, I've been waiting for the perfect moment... But every second I spend with you is more than perfect and I'm tired of waiting. I know I don't have the ring yet, and we don't have to do it now or even soon… I just want to know if…_

_Yes…_

The deliciousness of that one word thrilled her, just as it had that night. The answer to a single decision that, back then, had seemed to effect so many changes for the better; now, wouldn't make much difference, except perhaps to change her last name so it matched that of her son and his father. But even that alone made her wonder why life had been so cruel as to make them wait so long.

"Charlotte, thank you. That would be…"

"Agent Bristow?"

Following her own voice, Agent Lee was suddenly in the doorway, eyes wide and arms empty, breathless from having just sprinted down the hallway. Her tone was unmistakable; an echo from just a while ago when those exact words had flown from her mouth and carried so much with them.

"Where's Ilya?"

Sydney wasn't sure who asked the question, whether the halting, careful voice belonged to her, Vaughn, or was a combination of both of them whispering together. No matter how it was created, the effect was lethal, could easily riddle guilt and sorrow through anyone possessing a heart.

"The doctor's examining him. He feels that in order to minimize further psychological damage, Ilya should be placed with a family right away…"

Those words in themselves were potentially painless, which was fortunate, because they were able to cushion the blow of what came next. It was a statement that stung worse than the bite of the winter wind on half-freezing fingers, screamed _whys_ and _hows_ and strains of something close to _too emotionally attached_…

"… Devlin ordered me to call the Department of Children and Family Services."


	14. Denouement

Rhapsody

Chapter 14: Denouement

* * *

The shocked silence that followed Agent Lee's statement was suffocating, weighing down on all of them with such pressure that it would be impossible to take a breath even if they had tried. It shouldn't have been. There should have been murmurs of agreement and nods of the head, a simple _Let__ us know when we need to pack his bags…_ He wasn't their child, after all.

Sydney and Vaughn, the two agents, the two _people_, who knew better than anyone what it meant to allow emotions to play where they weren't permitted, had allowed themselves to become too close, to feel where there should have been numbness, to believe that the little boy was their own, would be theirs when this was all over.

They had forgotten. Rule number one, first and foremost before all others: _There is no emotion…_

But they hadn't wanted to play the game, not again; had promised themselves that they never would, no matter what had happened. Speech and action, thought and reason were all nice in their own ways, had their shining moments along with their pitfalls, the instances and places when only they would seem to work and nothing else would fit. But emotion did not belong among them, was not meant to be plucked from consciousness at only certain times and presented to the world. It lingered below awareness, out of perception and reason's grasp, shone through at both the worst and best moments.

Emotion _was_ life. Pure and simple. They wouldn't let themselves forget that.

And because of it, they had ignored reason, forgotten that in truth, they were doing no more than babysitting, temporarily and without pay, watching the little boy until he could return home, wherever that was. They never considered the strangeness of it, of thinking that the child would have a home somewhere they were not, that _they_, the two of them and little Gabriel, were _not_ the toddler's home.

Lee cleared her throat, as if the taffy-sticky silence had caught inside and become too much to ignore, continuing without waiting for further acknowledgement, "He had me call them while he was sitting right there. He was speaking to the doctor, but…"

"What did they say?" Sydney asked, her voice harsh as if she had lost it one day and this was the first time she was using it in years. She needed to know whether they were talking hours, minutes, days. How long they would have to figure this all out, to come up with a plan. How many more times she would be able to hear that little voice call out to her and Vaughn, how many more nightmares there were to soothe away and hugs to return before everything melted. She needed to know when the DCFS expected to find a little Russian boy on their doorstep, whether there was a chance that they could apply to become his new family, or…

"Nothing," Lee answered, smiling softly. "I dialed my home number and got the machine. My boyfriend's going to be a little confused if he gets home before I do, but I wanted to tell you…"

The younger agent had disobeyed a direct order, going against her director while he was in the very same room, eyeing her every move. She had bought them time, given them a better chance to get Ilya back, to bring him home where he belonged. There was no way to thank her properly, the words themselves not enough; speaking volumes, but incapable of relaying more than that, eight letters not an adequate amount of fencing to frame all that should be said.

Nevertheless, something that might have been a _thank you_ hissed from between Sydney's lips, coupling with a sigh in the quarter of a second she allowed herself to relax, leaning gently against Vaughn and feeling his hand tighten around hers in understanding. That quarter of a second was all she was allowed before thought kicked into action and emotion overclouded everything, stampeding a herd of wild worries through her head.

Sudden panic and determination took her hand from Vaughn's, his loosening automatically to allow it release, as if he had expected this all along. Holding Gabriel tightly and not waiting for anyone to react or try to stop her, Sydney hurried from the room, nearly bowling over Agent Lee in her hurry to escape, to save her other little boy and scoop him into her arms.

Gabriel whimpered with the sudden movement, and despite how her brain seemed to have shut down to almost everything but this intense, gnawing need, she could hear the tiny noise her son made, would have in the midst of any rushing creak and clatter of movement; even if a sudden tempest had uprooted the building, the panic squealing through her mind transforming into the witch's cackling laughter, and a roaring whirlwind had carried the lot of them off to Oz. There was something about a child's voice, her own child's voice, that spoke to her anywhere and everywhere, a cry she would always hear above all others, would find herself responding to despite a million more pressing needs.

She cradled the infant closer, holding him firmly but tenderly, whispering things that she herself couldn't hear or make out; perhaps soothing sentences, a lullaby, cooing nonsense… it didn't matter what it was, so long as her voice reached her little boy's ears. Gabriel calmed at the sound of it, snuggling against her with a satisfied sigh. His mother was there, would never let him come to harm; he was safe in her arms and that was all that ever mattered.

Somewhere on the edge of consciousness, Sydney heard Vaughn call her name, knew that he had tried to rise and follow her but had been prevented. If she had turned, she would have seen his mother stop him, gently easing her son back into the chair, trying to soothe away his wrinkles of worry as if her little boy were once again before her instead of a full-grown man.

"Sydney."

She wouldn't have stopped if she could have helped it, but there was something about the way that he always spoke her name that got to her, as if there were always a weight behind it, something deadly serious that he was going to impart, or a reprimand in waiting. Her feet slowed a few paces before reaching her father, her tongue shaking from it the only words she could find.

"Devlin called DCFS. They're going to take him."

"He did _what_?" Jack asked, the last word emphasized, but just barely; the addition of a slight arch to his eyebrows and the light shade of pink that infused his ears evidence of his anger. "I thought I…"

"Dad, I have to talk to Devlin," Sydney quickly cut him off, "convince him that…"

"No."

Though it had not risen beyond its normal tone, Jack's voice was a clap of thunder, the word carrying with it all the electric danger that a single violent bolt of lightning presents to those foolish enough to wait beneath the tallest tree or stand in the middle of the open field during a storm. It stunned Sydney to silence, and she let the crackling hiss of her father's statement hum through the air for a few seconds before regaining her composure. Her eyes narrowed and when she spoke, the vehemence in her own tone was eager to rival what had just been said, fueled greedily by instinct, need and something else that only a mother can possess; each word she spoke was slow and calculated, dripping with the scorching coolness of sudden anger.

"If you think that just because you happen to be my father, you can…"

"No, Sydney," Jack interrupted, so calmly that his words were almost bowled over in her tirade. He sighed before tentatively reaching forward and brushing a hand against his grandson's head. He had seen the boy right after he had been born, of course, had visited a few times since then; but still had yet to get used to the fact that this was his daughter's child, that his little girl was grown up, old enough to… "You have to stay with your son, make sure Vaughn gets proper treatment and…"

She knew that, just as she knew that she needed to breathe, that her heart needed to beat to keep her alive. It was as easy as A progressing to B and continuing through the alphabet, numbers steadily adding themselves so that they were counted in the right order. She didn't need her father or anyone to tell her that the two boys she already had needed her now more than ever, but…

"What about Ilya? I can't just let them take him away."

Her voice was nearing desperation; and she was about as prepared for his response as she was for the apocalypse. It wasn't so much the words themselves that caught her, but the fluid way that he spoke them, as if it were the natural answer to all their problems, something she should have expected in the first place.

"I'll talk to Devlin."

"But Dad, you…" Sydney trailed off, unable to find the words to tell her father that he didn't want it as badly as they did, didn't have passion on his side; he hadn't seemed to care where the boy ended up, had been the one to try to take the child from them that first time…

"He'll be more likely to listen to me than he would to either you or Vaughn," Jack continued logically. He paused and looked his daughter in the eye, his voice soft, edging on hesitant when he spoke again, a drastic contrast to his businesslike words from just a moment before. "The boy means something to you, Sydney… so he means something to me, too."

"Dad…" Sydney began, the nearly tearful way she spoke his name linking perfectly with the shock and wonder that had found its way into her eyes. She wanted to let him know how much that one statement meant to her, to thank him, tell him that nothing else was necessary; he didn't need to drop his guarded demeanor more than he already had, that this, that everything, was more than enough. But as always, at times when they should have been spoken, the words caught in her throat, flies stuck fast to the web of emotion that had suddenly spun itself throughout her insides.

"I know, sweetheart," Jack began softly, momentarily bonding further with his daughter than he ever had, understanding all the words she couldn't speak. He held her gaze as he continued, not one to let the loss of eye contact soften reality, almost as if afraid that if he looked away, his link to her would be broken. "You have to understand, however, that what Devlin has in mind might be the best option for all involved. Given the history of Bykov's group and what has happened over the past few days, it may be safer for everyone if the boy is placed out of your care."

Sydney nodded, knowing that she would have had to face that truth sooner or later, understanding that despite all they did and could do, how hard she fought and kicked and screamed, she might not get Ilya back, _they_ might not get Ilya back. And it might be better that way…if they loved the child enough, and their own child as well, to not put either of them in danger, to give the little boy away.

"I'm not making any promises, Sydney, but I'll do what I can."

And she knew he would, knew he had the potential to fight for her better than she could herself. He had hidden the truth from her before, lied, even; but couldn't this time, not here, not now, not when he spoke so softly and sincerely, was looking directly into her eyes.

"Dad… Thank you."

He put his hand upon her own where it rested on Gabriel in a surprising gesture that was as near a hug as Jack Bristow would get inside the CIA building. Sydney smiled gratefully at him and he returned it, pulling his hand away from hers. Tenderness and emotion went back into hiding with that gesture, not gone completely, but no longer exposed for all to see. His eyes clouded, the familiar detachment returning as Jack quickly went back to business.

"Weiss already left for the hospital. There's another ambulance waiting in the parking garage for…"

"Syd?"

Even when she knew he had been in no immediate danger, that he was just a few doors down the hall, Vaughn's breathless voice sighed relief into her being. It floated anxiously out the door, followed by his pale, hobbling form. He would scour the CIA building on his own two feet to find her if need be, but Sydney made the effort unnecessary, hurrying to his side as he rested against the doorframe.

She fell into his embrace, letting him lean against her to catch his breath. The fingers on one of his hands brushed gently up and down her arm, stealing up her shoulder, across her jaw and circling back down. Gabriel caught his father's hand when it ventured near enough, grasping a finger in his tiny fist and holding tightly. His parents' smiles lingered for a moment or two, fading slowly away with the return of thought.

"You have to go to the hospital, Vaughn," Sydney whispered gently, watching as he let their son play with his finger, careful that he didn't put it in his mouth.

Vaughn moved as if to shake his head, wincing so slightly at the pain this gesture caused him that it was barely perceptible. He didn't know that she had seen it, that that was why she shifted against him, to make sure that he didn't fall. "We should go to Devlin first… We need to… to get him back."

Sydney looked back down the hallway, expecting to find that her father had come closer, ready with the same response that he had just given her. But Jack was gone, either already bent on making their dream a reality or simply leaving the little family alone in the hall.

"My dad's going to get him for us," Sydney murmured, turning back to Vaughn in time to see the look he gave her, biting her lip and speaking her next words softly, spilling the truth as gently as she could. "He's going to try."

"But Syd," Vaughn protested weakly, "he's not…"

_… you… me… He's your father. He's… Jack…_

She heard the words before he spoke them; the same ones that had been tumbling through her mind when this solution had first been presented. But she silenced him with a soft kiss, letting her lips linger there to shake the image of the blood that had started to streak through the gauze on his forehead, trying not to let it frighten her, worry her more than it should. She needed to convince him to take care of himself, for once to put his own needs before those of others around him.

"All any of us can do is try."

Vaughn nodded at her words, refusing to meet her eyes. He had given in with that, but she knew he wasn't convinced, that he would always hold this deep within him; if they didn't get the little boy back, he would think it was his fault, that there could have been something he should have done.

"Michael…" Sydney started, her voice wavering as she tried desperately to make it sound as if she weren't begging. She pulled out of his grasp to look at him, not noticing the pain as she reached up and let her fingers dance along his chin, tilting it towards her as he had done to her so many times before, and forcing his eyes to meet her own. "We need to…"

Her words ran out on her, as if to tell her that he didn't need to have them repeated, that there were other better things he should hear from her lips. Sydney faltered, her eyes sneaking from his, ready to dart to the floor but finding Gabriel before they could reach their intended destination. It was in that split second focusing on her son that she found her answer, knew what she had to say.

"He needs you…"

Her voice hesitated again, eyes flitting back up to Vaughn's as she took her hand away from his face, and she knew that she could have had him with her first statement alone. But she needed to continue, if, for nothing more, than to make sure that he heard her, that he knew. Her words were so soft that he almost couldn't hear them; but they were there.

"_I_ need you…"

Vaughn closed his eyes, reaching out to find her fingers, able to grasp them even without the help of sight. For a moment, Sydney thought that the pain had finally overwhelmed him, that he had previously been doing a better job of hiding it and things were worse than she had thought. But he brought her fingertips to his lips, brushing a whispered _I love you_ against them.

And just as her words had stood for _I love you_ before, his responded in kind: _I need you, too…_

Without another word or gesture passing between them, with her fingers still touching his lips and their baby cradled between them, he spoke again, louder this time, so that his mother turned away from the old newspaper she had found on his desk and busied herself with, and came towards them.

"Come on, Maman. We're going to the hospital."

* * *

"… wouldn't move, so I pulled him behind a stack of crates or something. Probably not such a good idea looking back, because part of it fell and conked him on the head, but…"

They had been at the hospital for… Sydney couldn't even remember how long anymore. It was more than an hour, she knew, but after that all concept of time was hopeless. Vaughn had been stitched, x-rayed and bandaged; he had a concussion and a few fractured ribs, but with rest and medication, everything would heal. Weiss had found his way to their room, his arm in a cast from the elbow down, and was more or less seriously filling in the gaps of the story.

Vaughn's account had gone something like, _…__ there was nothing in the van, I went to find Bykov, talked to you and then Bykov's pistol was at my throat... _There was an allusion to a question and answer game that Vaughn either couldn't or chose not to elaborate on; he vaguely remembered Weiss showing up, Sacha's death and then petered off, everything else still too much of a blur to be told with any precision.

"… and we're both still alive, so…"

Sydney sat in a chair by the head of Vaughn's bed, his mother beside her and Gabriel in her arms. She had moved away from Vaughn's side and relinquished her grip on their child only once, and then only then because Vaughn had asked her to, had pleaded with her to go with the doctor when he had offered to look once more over her arm. She hadn't been able to refuse the look he gave her, the _I don't want to lose you either. Please…_ that poured from his eyes, and so the baby had been handed to Charlotte and Sydney's arm checked and re-bandaged to Vaughn's sighing satisfaction.

There had been no sign of Jack or Ilya, no mention of either of them since the group had left the CIA building. It seemed as if no one wanted to jinx it, thought they stood a better chance of regaining the child if his name was not spoken aloud, if it seemed as if they _weren't_ wishing with all their might, _didn't_ want it almost more than anything else the world could offer…

"… was out cold for a good thirty seconds. When he came back… Mike, you _jetted_ out of there. I had no idea how you did it on that leg; I almost couldn't…"

_One thing I've learned doing this – there's no drug like adrenaline…_

Sydney was so sure that anyone who had been stranded in the heat of the moment, left to their own devices and defenses to make an escape would have known this, would have felt the almost superhuman rush of adrenaline before, that she almost interrupted Weiss to tell him. She knew that she should have been listening attentively, logging everything that was mentioned so she could later match motion and action with bruises and scars, would be able to understand; but couldn't help the fact that Weiss' voice kept drifting in and out of existence. One moment, it was his own, relaying how he had run to the scene, the next it had twisted to Vaughn's or her father's, Devlin's even, or Sloane as he had given her orders…

She had finally relinquished control, let the words trigger what phrases, snippets and memories it would. It was comforting somehow, thinking of those things that were already past, that they had overcome together. Her first operation as a double in Moscow, Badenweiler, breaking into the Vatican, Tai Pei… With all their varying degrees of success and failure, all the little words and sentiments that were exchanged before, after and even in between… It helped to put things into perspective, make this story easier to hear.

"… caught up to you, you were like a crazy person. You wouldn't listen to a damn thing I…"

_… I thought you were crazy. I mean, I actually thought you might be a crazy person. But I watched you, I read your statement. I've seen how you think, and I've seen how you work. I've seen who you are…_

Perhaps those words hadn't been the ones to trigger it, but that moment, that night, had been when she had first realized that he truly _was_ the only person she could trust. She had been broken, hurting, had called him because there had been no one else. He hadn't even known her for that long, but that hadn't stopped him from showing up, picking up the shards of her shattered self and somehow arranging them so that when he handed them back to her, a slight turn and flick of the wrist shifted the still-fractured pieces into a kaleidoscope of hope and light.

She had discovered many things that night at the pier, as her hand had rested atop his and the lights from the Ferris wheel shimmered in the water. Not only had her CIA handler had the uncanny knack of knowing just what to say and how to say it, but that she hadn't been alone; he wouldn't _ever_ hurt her, would go out of his way to protect and help and save her, and not because his job required it of him, but simply because…

Because she had his number…

"Sydney..."

The wonder-filled tinge that colored Vaughn's tone snapped her back to attention, his voice alone would have been enough to draw her, but there was something about the way he had said her name this time that was different from any he ever had before. Her eyes met his and she knew in an instant that although he was looking in her direction, straight at and seemingly through her, just as he always did, he was speaking to Weiss.

"… I had to get back to Sydney."

He smiled, that same quick, shy smile he must have flashed at her a million times since she had known him; but just like everything else about him, every time seemed the first. It never failed to leave her breathless, to turn her legs to jelly and quicken her heartbeat to a flutter that could rival a hummingbird's wings. She had never wondered if he had used this same grin with all the girls who had come before her; it was hers now and wouldn't have mattered if he had.

But within days of returning to the apartment after Gabriel had been born, she had had her answer, when he had left her with his mother on his first hurried trip to the store for more diapers. _He only smiles like that for you…_

"Yeah," Weiss muttered, his tone clearly relaying his impatience as he rolled his eyes. "I _know_. It's all you would say for the entire…"

"How did you get back?" Sydney interrupted, her curiosity sudden and intense. Just a moment ago, she hadn't been able to pay attention, but now she wanted to hear, needed to know how he had returned to her without her already knowing of his intentions, without a word from any of the other agents at the scene. "Didn't you see any of the team?"

Weiss shook his head and shrugged, his face contorting with the pain the latter motion shot down his arm. "I don't know. We must have left the opposite way they came in. But the getting back part was by far the most frightening ten minutes of my entire life. And I've had to sit with Mike through _long_ car rides home after the Kings lose. Not a pretty sight."

"After all you had just been through?" Charlotte asked with a small laugh, the tittering sound of which was bordering on nervousness, as if she shouldn't be bringing it up again, but that the idea of her son going through so much and then just writing it off as nothing was disturbing. "You never fail to amuse me, Eric."

Her last words were strong, sincere, and with them the three agents knew that she somehow understood this life just as they did: barely, sometimes not at all, but there was always a glimmer of hope somewhere in the distance. The good rode in on the fumes of the bad; and hearts and stomachs that were too soft would not survive until times were better, would not be able to live except with anxiety and doubt ever-lingering.

"There was no way in hell I was running all the way to the Ops Center," Weiss began, letting a grin serve as his only response to Charlotte's comment. "Mike would have done it in a second, but he was in bad shape, too. So as soon as we got back to the main road, I flagged down this rusty old Buick. The lady at the wheel must have been at least 95 years old and half blind, probably should have had her license revoked decades ago…"

He paused for breath, turning curiously toward his friend. "You _sure_ you don't remember? I mean, the lady had _blue_ hair…" When Vaughn shook his head, Weiss frowned before turning back to the women and continuing. "She didn't question our appearances and wouldn't let me explain, but _did_ ask what two such nice young men were doing in that neighborhood so bright and early, and hoped that we weren't up to no good."

This sentence was punctuated with another roll of the eyes and something resembling a snicker. "She drove with two feet the entire way, took corners like a bat out of hell. There were like eight cats climbing all over me in the backseat, and I had to shout out directions between bouts of sneezing. Mike, meanwhile, was kind enough to ask if she could go any _faster_... I swear, I was about ready to puke."

They were left with this unpleasant thought, because Weiss shook his head in disgust, clearly indicating he was finished. There was no point in telling how they had arrived at the Ops Center more or less in one piece; that they were here to tell the story was evidence of that.

"I don't remember," Vaughn admitted after a moment. There was no way to tell if he had been too rapt in thoughts of Sydney to pay attention to any other detail, or if this were the 'slight memory loss' that the doctor had said might accompany his concussion.

He had stirrings of his stomach being lurched from side to side (whether it had been at the thought of losing her, losing their son, or simply car sickness, he didn't know); an odd numbing pain that seemed to have run throughout his entire body, capturing heart and mind and soul; a strange odor that might have been cat fur, very well could have been something else; and… Sydney…

He had almost died, very well could have. And even though Sydney hadn't been there, all he could remember about the incident was her… Funny, that. Or, maybe, not at all…

"Dude, you were like on the edge of your seat waiting to get there. I don't even think you had your seatbelt on. We went through two lights, took three turns without a blinker, two more with the _wrong_ blinker, went about forty miles _over_ the speed limit, and almost killed a…"

A soft knock at the door interrupted him. They all turned, expecting to see another doctor or nurse, but finding Jack in the doorway. Sydney didn't look at his face any longer than the time required to recognize him, her eyes focusing on empty arms, the bare space beside him. Her heart sunk to her stomach and Vaughn gripped her hand; they barely noticed Jack turn to face someone or something not visible through the open doorway, were lucky that their suddenly dumbed senses allowed them to hear his words.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice more gentle than any Sydney had heard from him before. "Everybody's waiting."

With a slight tug, Ilya appeared in the doorway, his thumb in his mouth and his eyes darting quickly back and forth, wary of what they would or wouldn't find before them. But all it took was one look into the room him for his entire face to light up, his damp thumb dropping to his side as he yanked his other hand out of Jack's grip, his sneakered feet pattering across the floor.

"Bahn!"

"Dad! Did you really…?" The rest of Sydney's question caught in her throat as she watched Ilya scamper to the foot of the bed, jumping up and down when he found he was unable to launch himself into Vaughn's arms and repeating his name with greater energy and urgency.

"I spoke to Devlin. Pulled a few strings, called in a couple old favors," Jack explained, stepping behind Ilya and picking the little boy up off the floor. "Is it all right if…?"

But Vaughn held out his arms and Ilya launched himself into them, earning a pained _oof_ from Vaughn as the child wrapped his own tiny arms tightly around his neck, burying his little face in his shoulder with a sigh.

"Careful, buddy…" he murmured, wincing as he reached up to loosen Ilya's grasp, deciding that it didn't matter and holding the child closer, breathing in the soft scent of powder and Johnson's Baby Shampoo that reminded him of his own little boy. Having the child in his arms, knowing that Sydney was beside him with their son… it was worth ten times more than this small amount of pain, made it all just melt away.

Sydney stood and leaned against the edge of the bed, reaching a hand out to run it through Ilya's hair. Vaughn tangled his fingers through hers, moving their joined hands down to rub against the child's back. She leaned in closer, moved as if to rest her forehead against Vaughn's, but suddenly remembered the stitched gash, dipping her chin downward and closing her eyes, letting emotion wash over her, mingle with the questions that were too much to ask…

_Was this really happening? Was it too good to be true? If she opened her eyes again, would everything disappear? Would she find her arms empty, herself in the warehouse, Vaughn pulling away from their first kiss, from their life, this life, together…?_

The four of them, Sydney, Vaughn, Ilya and Gabriel, sat as if woven together, each a different and vital thread in a finally finished tapestry. There was a hint of desperation, of fear, in the way they embraced one another, as if worried to let go for fear of losing all the others again, but this time, forever.

With a soft smile, Charlotte rose from her chair, having to force herself to tear her eyes away from the scene before her and turn towards Jack and Weiss. "Coffee, gentlemen?"

Jack smiled and nodded from across the bed, removing a few folded papers from his jacket pocket and dropping them onto the blankets, crossing around to Charlotte and leading her from the room like a true gentleman. Weiss agreed in a similar fashion, although not half as suave as he stumbled from the room, lingering for a moment in the doorway to turn towards Vaughn and shake his head.

"Lucky son of a bitch," he muttered, before disappearing and reluctantly following his friends' parents down the hall.

The little family silently rejoicing on the hospital bed hadn't heard a word.

"Dad, how did you do it? What did you…?"

Sydney looked up, finally discovering that everyone else had left the room. She didn't have time to ponder the sudden absences, and even later, when she asked her father the very same questions, he hadn't answered with much more than a smile. They never questioned further, never found out exactly what he had done that day in the time it had taken him to wrestle the little boy from the CIA's custody. They simply settled with the fact that they owed her father too large a debt to ever be repaid.

"Syd?" Vaughn asked suddenly. If he had heard her questions or realized that they were alone in the room, he didn't move to acknowledge it. "Did you want kids? I mean before this, before Russia. We never really had a chance to talk about it…"

He was fumbling, didn't know why he felt the sudden urge to ask now, but wasn't going to suppress the instinct. If today had taught him anything, it was that life and time were precious, that the little questions and comments shouldn't be taken for granted, may just be the ones you will never get another chance to voice, that could have meant the world, made all the difference.

"I don't know," she confessed quietly. The truth was, she hadn't really thought about it at all. At least not before any of this had happened, not with Vaughn. She had started this discussion only once before, right when…

"That's why I told him the truth," she blurted out, cheeks coloring as her eyes found the stark white hospital sheets, her fingers stiffening in his and her voice softening to a whisper. "Danny. He wanted kids so badly and I couldn't lead him on, I couldn't lie to him about that…"

She tilted her head, bending to kiss Gabriel and still refusing to meet his eyes. Vaughn felt Ilya look up from his shoulder, seeming to sense the sudden gravity, the hint of sadness that had suffused the conversation; probably wondered if he had been the cause of it, if there was something else he had done that would end in blood and tears.

"I don't think I ever told you that," Sydney mused softly, her lips ruffling their little boy's hair. "I don't think I've ever told _anybody_ that…"

Vaughn tightened his grip on her hand in thanks and comfort, torn between wanting to tell her not to relive those moments, not to torture herself, and feeling as if he didn't have the right to speak here, to intrude; he wouldn't have known what to say. He hadn't pushed her where Danny was concerned. It was his death that had brought them together, one of the few, perhaps the only, areas of untrodden ground in their relationship; there were a few footprints here and there, of course, one or two late night conversations, some lingering smiles and tears, but it was simply one area Vaughn felt he should not step.

Yet, she had opened up on her own, entrusted him with this, something deeper than she had ever shared before, changing the seemingly simple story of _And I told him about SD-6_ to something more complex, giving it a reason, filling the people behind the tale with life…

"Sorry…" Sydney mumbled, her cheeks turning a deeper red as she realized how drastically she had changed the tone of their reunion, zapping it almost instantaneously from elation to sadness.

"Don't Syd," Vaughn sighed, shaking his head and shifting Ilya so that the little boy was sitting more on the bed than his lap; the child reluctantly pulled out of the embrace, not wanting to move too far away.

Vaughn's eyes searched each of them: Ilya, little Gabriel, Sydney, even his own reflection in her eyes; four people who, by all rights and reasons, should not have come together. But they had deserved it in the end, been destined for it, carrying on through hardship and more than their fair share of sorrow, never giving up.

Couldn't she see that this, right here, was _it_? That nameless, intangible, too difficult to pinpoint _thing_, a feeling more than anything else; what most people spent their entire lives searching for and never found, never realized that it had been right under their noses all along. They may have fought, sighed, sobbed and finally simply stumbled upon it, but at that moment, despite and because of everything, it was theirs.

He smiled, hoping to give her strength, found himself unable to tear his eyes away from her. Cradling their son, her hair still tousled from a night of little sleep, sans the makeup she would have normally used to hide the dark crescents beneath her eyes… She was gorgeous and he almost told her so, knew she would laugh, wouldn't believe him. And so he changed his mind at the last second, a few fresh words willing themselves to be heard and leaping from his lips, new truth finding its way to her beauty.

"I can't imagine not having all this. Not having you."

"Me neither…" Sydney murmured. She paused before her lips parted again and she took a breath; he knew in an instant what she was going to say, what she would add to her apology, but her gratitude was unnecessary. He wanted to tell her this, wanted to steal the thanks from her before she could vocalize it, and hand the word back, unspoiled and unspoken.

Before either of them could speak, Ilya pitched forward out of Vaughn's grasp, his eye catching on something and his body following impulse and crawling towards it. Both Sydney and Vaughn instinctively reached an arm out to keep him from falling off the bed, one catching his shoulder, the other snatching his ankle and nearly removing his shoe. But Ilya didn't fall, squirming out of their grip and turning back towards them, clutching the papers that Jack had placed on the bed and holding them out to Vaughn.

"What's that?"

Sydney had spoken the words, but the same ones had barreled their way through Vaughn's mind. Crisp and white, the papers seemed harmless, in all reality, probably were; but that didn't stop the sinking feeling of uncertainty that descended from his heart to his stomach, and he didn't know why he suddenly wanted and didn't want to know what information those documents contained.

Ilya regarded both Sydney and the papers questioningly, seeming to shrug in answer, as Vaughn swallowed his doubt and reached forward, taking the papers from Ilya's hand and offering the child a smile in thanks. The little boy crawled back up to the head of the bed, snuggling gently against Vaughn's side and watched the documents unfold, seeming to know that he couldn't read the markings themselves and peering up as if to gauge Vaughn's reaction, watching his eyes widen as he silently flipped through the pages.

"Vaughn?"

It took him a moment to answer, to even realize that she had called his name. When he finally spoke, his voice was so low that as close as she was to him, she almost couldn't hear them. "They're adoption papers," he whispered, holding them out to her. "Everything's filled out. All we have to do is sign them."

Sydney took the documents from him, hands trembling. "Ilya Mikhail… Vaughn," she murmured, mystified, reading the child's name and then dropping the papers onto the bedside table, sheer luck landing them there and not spilling them onto the floor.

Not even a year ago, she would have met his eyes with a wild panic, a deer in the headlights, deathly afraid of drawing him into something he might not want, that another part of his life would have been because of her.

_I wasn't thinking? I should have asked you? I'm sorry?... I'm sorry..._

A dash of this uncertainty touched upon her, even as she fought to keep it at bay. But everything changed the second her eyes linked with Vaughn's, intercepting the same look of amazement and awe that had been there when she had first told him he was going to be a daddy, the moment she had agreed to marry him, first kissed him, the day their son had entered the world…

"What do you think, little guy?" Vaughn asked, forcing himself from Sydney's gaze to face Ilya. "Do you want me and Syd to be your mommy and daddy?"

"Daddy?" Ilya asked solemnly, dark eyes clouding for a moment, suddenly brightening as he tried the word again with more confidence. "Daddy."

There were no words to describe the sweetness that flowed from that single word, as if pure sugar had turned liquid, trickling off each letter, rippling in time with the two vibrating syllables. Multiplying that sensation infinitely by infinity still would not have been enough to cover it, could not have come close to telling of the tender satisfaction that rang from each note. It was by far the best lyric to any song that had ever reached Vaughn's ears. Except perhaps for…

"Can you say 'mommy'?"

He felt Sydney smile with his words rather than saw it; radiating a warmth as if the sun had made a sudden, unexpected appearance on an otherwise frigid and cloudy day. There was a part of him that wanted to turn, experience that tingling, sated sensation that a single glimpse of her dimples always brought him; but he couldn't take his eyes off Ilya, waiting for motion, any sign of a response.

"Daddy."

Half-expected, completely treasured; it couldn't discourage his determination, the ardent need to gently try again, the patient willingness to sit with the little boy in his lap and keep going forever, practicing until the child got it right. Giving up attempting to keep a straight face and letting his smile break through, Vaughn pressed again.

"Mommy."

There were a few heartbeats where Ilya seemed to consider his answer, gave hope that perhaps the next word uttered would be the right one. But it didn't matter as the little boy stood, placing his arms gently around Vaughn's neck and chirping his response almost directly into his ear.

"Daddy!"

Vaughn hugged the child fiercely, eyes finding Sydney's and locking there for half a second before trailing down to her lips. She leaned forward, holding Gabriel out of the way and pressing them gently against his own.

"Daddy!" Ilya sang out again.

He felt Sydney smile against his lips and pulled her impossibly closer, losing himself in her tender, almost too soft touch and languidly hurtling the two of them toward the heights of heaven. In a hazy, dulled echo, he heard Ilya repeat his new word and Gabriel coo in response, felt the two children reach out to each other.

Their lesson was over for the day.

It was good enough for now. And they had all the time in the world to make it better.

* * *

Well, that was it, everyone. The last chapter.

Thank you so much to all the readers, and especially all of those who took the time to review throughout this story.

I've been considering an epilogue, but we'll see; I guess it depends pretty much on whether you want it or not…


	15. Epilogue

Thank you so much for all the reviews, everyone. You have all been great and I hope you've enjoyed this… I apologize for the hugeness of this epilogue, but my muse went a bit out of control and I just ran with it… Thanks again!

* * *

Rhapsody

Epilogue

* * *

He would say that he had never seen her more resplendent, but it would have been a lie. He had had that very same thought upon waking that morning, finding her still asleep in his arms; would probably continue to think the same thing every morning he awoke beside her, each day he snagged not more than a glimpse of her smile, every night the two of them sighed off to sleep. Knowing this just as well as he knew his own name (and that just barely, given the thousands of high level emotions flinging every which way at the moment, that had been wreaking havoc with his stability and sanity all day), he had settled for a whispered _You're so beautiful_, finding time to press his lips to her ear just as the last few chords of the march tinkled from the piano.

It might have seemed redundant. They were the same words he had murmured to her that very morning; both of them having decided to damn superstition and spend the day together with the boys. Five thirty was too far away when the sleepy morning sun was just beginning to creep in through the cracks in the curtain. After having finally found each other over a year ago, it still took all their self control to keep their hands off each other at times; trite traditions and silly superstitions had about as much a chance of breaking them apart as a snowman had staying frozen in the fires of hell.

And perhaps he was blinded or biased, but to him, she was always gorgeous, truly hadn't looked much different than she might at any other time. Not in outward appearance, at least. Her dress was simple, much to the chagrin of both his mother and Francie; but she had insisted, hadn't wanted anything to be too fancy or over the top that day, had just wanted him. Even without trying to impress any of them, the dress hugged her figure perfectly, clinging and flowing in all the right places. Sure, she wasn't usually one to wear white, and her hair had more of a curl to it than usual; and maybe she _was_ glowing a bit more than normal, although it may have just been a trick of the light… But she was still his Sydney. Nothing she was or wasn't wearing would ever change that.

Even now his hands were shaking, his breathing a little faster than normal. His ears still felt as if they were filled with cotton; all sound, music and speech alike, muffled, except for the ringing of her laugh. There was a part of him that felt the weight of Ilya curled up against his chest, yawning, his pint-sized suit and jacket wrinkled at this point, but still on, the clip-on bowtie lying somewhere on the dance floor; and he knew that little Gabriel was snuggled in Sydney's arms, adorable as always and fast asleep. But that didn't change the fact that she was all he could see, all he had been able to see since…

_You may kiss the bride._

And he did. The two of them may have broken plenty of rules in their lifetimes, but he would never go against an order like that one. Why would he want to?

Sheer common sense dictated that this kiss should be quick and simple, stood as straight and decorated as a military general, side by side with reason and duty. He and Sydney might just have obeyed this directive, too, if emotion hadn't chosen that imperative split second to clang by in a flurry of bells and whistles, snapping ever-hyper passion loose from its chains and stripping common sense and its compatriots of their clothing, along with their pride, sending them screaming away in the shame of defeat.

Three and a half weeks had been more than enough time to perfect all the motions that a quick kiss with full arms required, and it didn't take much to turn quick into lingering and longing, merely the ability to hold on. He tasted her sweetness, let her take his breath away, steal everything from him except the exquisite feeling of her lips on his own. It took all of his self control to wrench himself away; a leftover shred of dignity yanking him from her, but unable to keep him from peppering her lips with a few more whispering kisses before smiling against them, pulling far enough away to look into her eyes.

_Ladies and Gentlemen, I__ now present to you Mr. and Mrs. Vaughn…_

"Hey, uh, guys? I know you've been here for a few hours, but don't you think you can wait until…"

The renewed ringing of silverware against glasses stopped Weiss mid-sentence. Vaughn could have listened to his friend, turned away from Sydney and back to the reception guests… But with his lips already so close to hers and the chiming glasses standing as a perfect excuse, it was all too easy to pull her in for another kiss.

"Hey!" Weiss shouted, turning his attention from the couple before him to the few people still sitting at his own table, the two who had started the clamoring echo of glass. "I thought you guys were on _my_ side… Francie? Will?"

"It's _my_ job to make sure the bride is enjoying herself," Francie explained with a laugh. "Shouldn't you be doing the same for the groom?"

"Screwed once again by that second X chromosome," Weiss groaned, "I see how it is… Will, come on man, us guys have to band together on this one."

"Sorry man," Will said with a smile, fork poised above his empty glass of champagne. "This is just too much fun. They're like little puppets." With that, his fork hit against the glass once again, quickly joined by the others surrounding him.

"Haven't you spent any time with the two of them?" Weiss moaned, gesturing wildly toward the newlyweds before surrendering with an exasperated sigh and sitting back down. "They do that all the time _any_way. They don't need you to bang a damn glass!"

Francie just shook her head, grinning as she rolled her eyes. "Just because you _broke_ yours three hours…"

'And seven drinks ago," Will added, raising his own glass to Weiss in an appreciative toast.

"… doesn't mean that _we_…"

Vaughn turned away from his friends' argument and scanned the room. Most of the guests had already left, only a few family members and close friends remaining. Both boys were now asleep in their arms, and when his eyes found Sydney's again, he could glimpse the hint of exhaustion that hid, scowling, beneath her persistent smile.

"He's right, you know."

"About what?" Sydney asked quietly, carefully shifting to be closer to him without waking either of the children, another small gesture that had become second nature these past few weeks.

"We've been here too long." He whispered, brushing a gentle kiss against her forehead. "Our flight leaves in a few hours. If we go now, we'll have enough time to go back to the apartment, take a quick nap and grab our bags before heading to the airport."

She smiled in unspoken agreement, pushing her chair back, and even with his arms full, he moved to help her stand. They said their goodbyes, lingering for a few moments outside his mother's car after they had safely buckled in their sleeping boys and kissed them goodbye. A few words were exchanged with his mother and her father, none of them nearly enough to thank the two of them for their help in pulling off this wedding; between Charlotte's stellar planning abilities and Jack's seemingly endless connections, they had had everything they could have ever wanted and then some.

Silence followed them into the back of the limo, the driver, the son of one of Jack's friends, whisking them off to their apartment without a word. Vaughn's fingertips seemed to have discovered a mind of their own, leaving the comfortable grip of her hand and trailing up the bare skin of her arm, dancing across her cheek and lips so that Sydney sighed in sated pleasure and snuggled closer to him as thunder rumbled off in the distance.

"Good thing we left when we did," she murmured, bringing her hand up to smother a yawn. "I hope your mom gets home okay… She could have stayed in the apartment."

"But then she wouldn't be able to show off her grandsons in church tomorrow morning," Vaughn answered with a reassuring grin, his fingers finding hers again and squeezing them gently. "And she likes to drive in the rain. She'll be fine. Don't worry."

He felt her nod against his shoulder, taking a deep breath and letting the air out in one dreamy word. "Paris…"

"For five whole days," he responded, kissing her knuckles before turning to face her, intent on continuing this discussion about their honeymoon. "You're gorgeous."

He couldn't help himself, couldn't stop the words from leaving his lips. It was a thought he normally had tens of thousands of times each day, every second his eyes fell upon her, but usually he was more restrained when it came to actually giving it voice. He didn't want her to think he was joking, that it was merely his repetition of the phrase that kept it anywhere near true. But today, he let the statement fall from his lips as often as it struck his mind, must have whispered words to that effect at least a hundred times and could still keep going.

She smiled, eye contact faltering momentarily as it had every other time that day, and he knew that if the darkness had allowed him to see in color, she would be blushing.

"Have I told you that yet today?" he added, only half teasing as he smoothed her hair back behind her ear.

"Maybe once or twice," Sydney murmured, her response barely catching enough for him to hear, not helped by the way she pressed her face into him. But he understood her, and it was worth straining his simply ears to feel her smile against his neck.

Only a few quick turns and stoplights stood in the way of them and the apartment. After he helped her from the backseat, Sydney barely had time to consider the strange emptiness of getting out of a vehicle without turning to unbuckle at least one of her little boys or the promise of them waiting to greet her inside. Before the thought could do more than touch upon her mind, Vaughn had swept her off her feet and into his arms without so much as a word in explanation.

"Vaughn!"

It was hardly a protest, couldn't even be considered halfhearted and was not by any means enough to make him relinquish his hold. Both knew that if she really wanted to, she could have her feet back on the ground in no time at all, and most likely would have pinned him there as well. But she laughed even as she spoke, the sound of it jingling through the letters of his name, spurring him onward as her arms encircled his neck, drawing her closer to him.

The far off rumbling of thunder had given way to a gentle rain, the beginnings of a storm that would soon rip open the sky, pelting them with cold, fat raindrops determined to drive a soaking chill straight through clothing to skin and bones. But they were either completely oblivious to the weather or simply didn't care. Vaughn never quickened his steps and Sydney didn't make a motion to hurry him; though the feeling of it may never subside, they couldn't stay newlyweds forever. Actions and words may be repeated, but single moments only came once, and they wouldn't waste them.

He was somehow able to unlock the door with her in his arms, pushing it open and carrying her inside, waiting until he had crossed the living room to lower her gently onto the couch. That bright smile was still playing on her lips and he toyed with the idea of stealing it from her, but deep down he knew that commercial airlines were not in the habit of waiting, even for honeymooners, and had to settle for whispered speech instead.

"You want to crash here for awhile? I'll wake you before we have to go."

She looked as if she were about to say yes, to agree with his plans and let him carry them out however he wanted. She seemed to surprise both of them as she spoke, her heart stealing the reins of language as it had so many times before and whipping words and wishes from her tongue that wouldn't have otherwise been known.

"Stay with me?"

Her voice arched into a question, was at once sweetly innocent and achingly seductive, a combination he would have never thought possible if he hadn't heard it from her lips, that only _she_ could manage with or without trying. It was impossible to cleave the two halves from their mingled whole, to decipher exactly what she meant by those three simple words, whether her comment carried with it the frenzied desire that was suddenly prickling his own skin or was merely the yawning, childish confession of not wanting to fall asleep alone.

He swallowed, finding himself, not surprisingly, willing to appease her either way, would kiss her just as eagerly as he'd curl up next to her and soothe her into sleep. Each option would likely carry the same consequences, exhaustion and passion equally capable of helping them miss their flight. It was in both of their best interests that he backed away, offering her that silly, shy smile she so adored.

"I'm going to go get our bags and change. I'll be right back."

Barely moving as he said it, it took a few sleepy seconds for his feet to begin to propel him backwards; he retreated towards their bedroom as far as he could go without breaking eye contact, only stopping when his back bumped against the wall, sending him jolting into reality and scurrying down the hallway before he could hear if she laughed. He swiftly changed and found their luggage, returning to the living room a few moments later, dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt, a suitcase held in either hand.

She didn't stir to acknowledge his presence, was so still that he thought she had already succumbed to sleep. Sneaking a glance at the clock to see how long he could allow her to doze before he would have to rouse her, he dropped their luggage by the door with a soft thud and tiptoed to the couch. He was almost beside her when he saw the glimmer of her eyes reflecting the dim light from the hallway and followed her line of sight to the picture frame that rested on the end table.

Sydney's eyes flicked towards his own and she smiled as she held out her hand and tugged him down to lie by her side. As her sweet scent surrounded him and his body adjusted seamlessly to the feel of hers, he let his eyes wander up from where their hands were joined, following the curve of her shoulder and neck until his gaze pierced hers once again, pausing for only a moment before jumping with hers to the frame on the table. The picture itself was nearly hidden in the shadows, but they didn't need the visual, had both memorized the moment that had been captured. The photo had been taken just a little over a week before, when everyone had healed enough to leave the house and spend some time outside: their first family visit to the playground.

He had taken the picture, remembered posing them all perfectly: Ilya had been on the swings smiling sweetly for the camera, Sydney had crouched beside him with Gabriel, holding up the baby's hand and waving.

It hadn't turned out the way he had wanted, the way he had been planning; but in half a heartbeat he would admit that it was better, wouldn't have traded a thousand staged and smiling shots for the one he had attained. The picture was a little off center and a tad crooked, the result of him nearly dropping the camera. Ilya was reaching towards something out of the shot, his mouth open, face twisted in sudden concentration; Gabriel's hand had been dropped, his fleeting attention turned toward his older brother. It was Sydney who held the entire photo together, her smile radiant, genuine, eyes sparkling and dimples dancing in her cheeks. The fact that she was no longer looking towards the camera didn't matter; it was a smile that could not be garnered on command, even to have captured a sideways shot of it was worth more than gold.

All of this, the smile, the turned heads and four dollars later spent at the ice cream truck that had caught the little boy's eye, had been the reaction to one simple word: morozhenoye – the Russian equivalent to ice cream.

It had been four dollars well spent, the sticky frozen sugar worth every penny, calorie and so much more. In two and a half weeks, barely more than two words had been added to the child's vocabulary: _no_, _uh oh_ and sometimes _pwease_ joining the regular ranks of _Bahn_, _Tyd_, _Babe_ and _daddy_; meetings with various therapists had been set up and clearly marked on the calendar. Ice cream had been their first breakthrough, the first connection between the child's old and new lives, the first real bit of hope for the future.

The future was something Vaughn had given a lot of thought to these past few weeks; it used to signify nothing more than the passing of time, an ever-distant period that, given his life and job, he might never obtain. Now it had taken on such greater meaning, was watching his little boys grow and thrive, stealing seconds with Sydney that always seemed to end too quickly but left the hope of more kisses lingering in the air… It was everything.

Even before he had healed well enough to leave the house, he had started making phone calls, waiting until she had walked out the door on some errand or another, and spending that time in hurried conversation. Just like the few moments prior to the snapping of that photograph, he had had everything planned out. But this time, it was his own doubt and not ice cream that changed the course of things. He needed to make sure, to know if…

"Syd?" Vaughn asked suddenly, yanking both pairs of eyes from the photo, a few seconds of silence following as they waited for the foggy remnants of memory to dissolve.

"Hmm?"

His forehead wrinkled for a moment, as if he had either suddenly forgotten all that he had wanted to say, or just as quickly realized that he hadn't known all along. But he decided to throw caution to the wind, standing and pulling her up with him, opening his mouth and letting the words fly out as he tugged her towards the door. "I want to show you something."

"Where are we…?"

"It's a surprise," Vaughn murmured, suddenly turning to face her and letting his eyes run up and down her form. "Do you want to get changed first?"

She nodded, mumbling a hurried _I'll__ be quick _before extracting her hand from his and scurrying into their room. He let her go with a sigh, his eyes nearly burning through her retreating form, and was about to take the suitcases out to the car when he heard her voice echoing down the hall.

"Vaughn?... Can you help me with this?"

Dropping the luggage handles, he hurried towards the sound of her voice. As he slipped through the partially open bedroom door, he found her back turned to him, her dress only opened a few inches from the top. She was struggling with the zipper, but her arms fell to her sides and she cocked her head towards him when she felt his presence in the doorway, her hair swishing across her back.

"Now I know why this was on sale," she murmured, smiling apologetically and turning away from him, bringing a hand up to pull back her hair. "Will you…?"

Wordlessly he stepped behind her, slowly and carefully tugging the zipper loose and pulling it down her back. His fingers ached to linger over the newly revealed skin, but he couldn't let them, willed himself to concentrate on the sound of the rain that had begun to beat against the windows in time with the stubbornly growling zipper. All at once, the soft pounding of raindrops hardened to a forceful hammering, the storm finally letting loose with a vibrating crack of thunder that sliced through the otherwise still air of their darkened room.

Sydney jumped, the electric tension and rumbling of thunder catching her off guard. Her motion was slight, barely more than a stiffening of relaxed muscles and a swift intake of air, but to Vaughn it felt as if she had leapt sky-high. Perhaps it was only his proximity to her that allowed this, the way he seemed to be touching her all at once; or maybe he had become so familiar with her every sigh and movement that he would have felt it from across the room. Either way, it couldn't be ignored; he wouldn't let it.

"You okay?" he asked, hands resting on her hips as he pulled her back towards him. His arms wrapped protectively around her, all efforts not to touch her foiled as he kissed the nape of her neck in comfort, chin resting on her shoulder as he waited for her response.

"Mm hmm." It was more a sigh than an answer, and she paused for a moment to lean back into him, letting that exhilaratingly relaxing, always overwhelming feeling of simply being in his arms shower over her once more. "Thanks."

That one word tangled the air in his throat, threatening to implode his lungs as he found himself incapable of breathing out to relieve their burning. God, he was so helplessly gone when it came to her, always had been, but now…

She was his wife, was his forever, but he still couldn't rid himself of the urge to relish every single moment with her, both waking and sleeping, whether her mood was sweet or sour, the moment just a tad left of right or spot on (because it could never be wrong, not with her). He had so much to lose, and was still afraid that he would, that his eyes would open one morning and everything would be gone, that it would have all been a dream or he would have somehow screwed up.

After three years, after she had both followed and defied his orders, shouted and smiled, lived with him, slept with him, kissed him, cried, cared, soothed, given him two sons and…

Nothing had changed. Nothing. From that very first time he had allowed himself to admit it, until now, and still ticking by with each passing second. He wanted her, he needed her. He wanted to need her and her to need him. Simply put, he loved her. Whether Bluebird, Freelancer or Mountaineer; Christiana Stevens, Joanna Kelly, Victoria King or Kate Jones; Sydney Bristow or Sydney... Vaughn.

That thought alone almost swamped him entirely, made it very difficult for his mumbled explanation of putting the bags in the car to come out even somewhat coherently. He almost screwed everything: his surprise, their honeymoon… just so he could tear that dress off her and kiss her, make love to his wife for the first time and the rest of the night.

He sat in the car, fingers drumming anxiously against the steering wheel, only stopping when she joined him a few moments later, comfortably dressed, her face washed clean of any hint of makeup. He started the car and took her hand, turning towards her before backing out of the driveway. "Close your eyes."

"Vaughn…" Her tone was playful, her eyebrow lifting and her bemused grin all that was needed to ask him what the hell was going on. "Why do I…"

"Do you trust me?"

He didn't know why he had asked it, had thought that the answer would be glaringly obvious; but he seemed hardly in control of anything that night, whether it be the weather or his own words and actions. Neither of them were surprised when her answer came quickly, a single word that was linked to the end of his question, nearly voiced before he had the chance to finish.

"Yes."

"Then close your eyes." It was a gentle command and he was smiling. Three years ago, Sydney Bristow would have given him hell for that, probably more for the laughing gentleness of it than anything else. But things were different now, so different.

"Do I have to stay awake?" she teased, eyes shut and smile brilliant. But he could sense the exhaustion behind her words, knew that if she were given the chance, she would surrender to dreamland without a second thought.

"Not as long as you sleep with your eyes closed."

She readily promised and he drove, his fingers threaded through hers the entire way. She fell asleep to the soft strains of the radio and the humming of rain only a few minutes after they had pulled out of the driveway, looked so peaceful that Vaughn considered passing their destination and driving for awhile longer, wanting to give her more than twenty minutes of rest.

But he knew he wouldn't have been able to wait, was suddenly desperate to show her this, to get her smile of approval; and so he pulled into the driveway and turned off the car, gently squeezing her hand to wake her. "Syd?"

She sighed, her eyelids beginning to flutter open with the sound of his voice, her own thick with sleep even after such a short nap. "W-where…?"

"Keep your eyes closed," he whispered, leaning over to seek out her lips, but finding the tip of her nose in the sudden darkness. "I'll come around and get you out."

Sydney expected his lips to trail downwards and find her own, feeling instead the sudden chill of his hand disentangling from hers and his presence vacating the space close beside her. A door opened and the hammering of the rain flooded her ears, quickly joined by a few splashing footsteps, and the opening of her own door. Water dripped upon her as one of Vaughn's wet hands took hers, the other unbuckling her seatbelt and shielding her head from the doorframe as he helped her from the car.

With his hand still in hers, his other arm snaked possessively around her waist to help him guide her tripping footsteps. The chilling combination of cold rain and his warm breath sent a tingling shiver down her spine that resulted in him pulling her closer, as their slow steps lead them somewhere she couldn't see, the hardness of asphalt or concrete becoming soft beneath her sneakers. When she felt him stop moving, so did she; his arms not coming from around her as his breath tickled her ear.

"Open your eyes."

The wavering glow of streetlights through pouring rain helped her vision slowly adjust, eventually allowed her to see in more than just shapes and shadows, to make out the outline of a house, a yard, the realtor's sign that read…

"Is this yours?" she asked, breathless, surprised that even those words came out clearly.

She felt him shake his head and murmur a single word in answer, pausing before linking it with another. And she could have sworn that he had never said anything sweeter, that she had somehow waited her entire life just for this.

"Ours… almost."

"How did you…?"

Vaughn shrugged as her words trailed off, seemed almost unwilling to give away his secret, trying to make light of what had clearly been no little purchase. "Savings… Money from my father… You dad chipped in a bit, too…"

He didn't give her a chance to respond as he untangled her from his embrace, tugging on her hand and running towards the front porch. His cold and wet hands fumbled on his key ring, fought against darkness and trembling fingers to open the front door. Finally, out of pity if nothing else, it relented, swinging open and allowing them to tumble in out of the elements.

She wanted so desperately to get a glimpse of all the secrets this house, their home, held hidden within its walls, but couldn't see, couldn't think, almost couldn't breathe. She was vaguely conscious of the weight of his hand within hers, his fingers twisted with her own, and she tightened her grip on them, squeezing life and love and thanks into that one swift embrace.

"Michael…"

They were the only two syllables she could find, spoken just a hair above a whisper and ringing through the darkness in awe and disbelief, no other words added because none offered themselves up; she didn't know what else to say. Any exclamation of thanks or praise would be laughable in its inability to carry the intensity required, would pale in comparison to this gesture he had performed for her, for them.

Vaughn didn't answer, at least not verbally, his thumb running in circles where his hand held hers, while his other hand felt against the wall for a light switch. A hurried, repeated clicking was evidence that he had found it, but the darkness was unchanging and mocking, the success of his quest inconsequential.

"I don't think the power's on yet," he mumbled, and she could just make out the frown that tugged at the corners of his lips, the darkness starting to come into focus, walls and doorways materializing from that not quite light, but not complete darkness that filtered through the windows. If she had twirled to face him at that moment, she would have caught his eyes upon her, stealing those seconds to savor her every reaction.

"I was going to have it all furnished," he continued in a whisper, "bring you here after we got back from Paris… But that's as far as I got." With this, he gestured to the lonely couch pushed up against the far wall and the few boxes stacked beside it. "I thought I should ask you first, wasn't sure if you'd…"

"It's perfect."

"You haven't even seen it yet," he pointed out with a chuckle, his breath and courage returning as she chased his doubt away.

"I don't need to; I love it already." She turned into him, her hands running up both his arms, tugging his lips toward hers. "Show it to me," she murmured as she pulled away, her voice so small and filled with such awe that he would have never thought she had so much as glimpsed at the evil of the world, seemed a thing wildly pure and untainted.

He could have refused her, pleaded on the side of time and darkness, told her that without light there wouldn't be much to glance at, pointed out that she had just said she didn't need to see it. But in truth, he had been desperate to take her on this very same tour ever since thoughts of _Their House_ had begun to trip across his mind; he could never deny her.

Vaughn didn't stop to look at his watch, to consider how much time they had and should spend in each room, how rushed this tour should be if they were going to make their flight. He simply took her from room to room, drinking in her reactions as if they were all that could quench a years old thirst, were the very elixir that kept him alive. If the lights had worked, if the house had been completely furnished, no doubt her enthusiasm would have been the same; but this... it was better than he could have asked for, than he would have ever dared to dream.

Truth be told, there wasn't much to show. The colors and patterns of floors and walls remained yet to be discovered, and their efforts to mount the stairs and tiptoe into some of the rooms rewarded them with a few small bruises. But with each and every opening of a door, she would still give him that smile, the very one he lived and breathed for, shining so brightly that he didn't need the help of electricity to see what was before him.

And so it was, led by her almost childlike excitement and sunny smile, that three bedrooms and two and a half bathrooms later, after they had been through the kitchen and living room, explored every hallway, closet and even the garage, they arrived at the end of the second floor hallway.

"What's this?" Sydney asked, pointing at the door just as she had done with every other one they had subsequently opened and passed through.

"The fourth bedroom," he responded with a shrug, pushing the door open and ushering her inside. She hadn't spoken or even so much as moved her fingers or lips, but he could sense her inner gears grinding in a quick lesson at mental math, just as his had when the realtor had told him about the house: the two of them, Ilya, Gabriel, and… "It can be the guest room or an office or something, until… un_less_ we need it for… something else…"

His sentence had slowed as the words were added to it, had faltered at the beginning as he had tried to explain himself too quickly, trailed off into stumbling silence after that slight slip of the tongue. There were raindrops and the muted whir of a single car passing on the wet streets, but without the hum of electricity, that was just about all that their sense of hearing had to offer them. The rapid thumping of heartbeats and the buzzing of two minds hastily hunting for the correct answer were tricks of his imagination, somehow Vaughn knew that; but the whoosh of blood rushing past his ears and the shuffling of feet across the floorboards as Sydney slowly spun towards him, those were real.

As real as the heat of her body as it pressed close against his own, the glint of her eyes as her head tilted up to face him, and her soft silhouette, a shape he had memorized, would be able to seek out and select from even the darkest shadows. When she spoke, her voice was low, almost trembling, barely powerful enough to force its way through the pounding rain and give breath to what they both thought, both wanted, but were for some reason too consumed with fear to admit.

"A bedroom for our little girl?"

He tried to nod, to speak, to do anything, but found himself unable to move, except for the slow upwards curving of his lips, the glimmer that passed almost dizzyingly over his eyes. In essence that's all they were missing, the only other thing they could possibly add to their life to make it more rapturous, better than it already was.

Sydney pressed her cheek against his shoulder and clung to him as if she were afraid of falling. He didn't think he would ever tire of this, of being able to hold her; could do nothing for hours on end if only he had her in his arms. After a few quiet minutes of slow rocking and tender caresses, his voice found its way back to him and he didn't stop it, didn't pause to consider the potential contrast between what the words might and should be. If he had looked at his watch, he would have seen that they had just enough time to make it to the airport before their plane took off, but…

"Let's go get the boys."

Sydney took her head from his shoulder to peer up at him. Blackness may have shrouded the rest of the room, but he could suddenly see her as clearly as if they were standing outside under the noontime sun, as if the light radiated from within her. Her hair was still damp from the rain and he gently plucked at a stray lock that had stuck itself to her cheek before finding her eyes gazing with a guarded hope into his own.

"But the honeymoon," she protested, and he knew she couldn't help how it came across as halfhearted. He had had to claw through every last of her motherly defenses to convince her to take this trip with him, and now that he had finally willed her in its favor, it would take far less effort to turn her against it.

"Paris," he started with a shrug, leaning in to press his lips against her forehead and letting his next words vibrate against her skin, "won't change much in the next few months."

_Other things would…_ his heart added, but he never needed to give the words voice. She kissed him so hard and with such insistence that he surrendered to her completely, couldn't stop the pained groan that escaped his lips when she pulled away. But when her fingers threaded their way through his, her arms tugging gently on his own as she spun out of his embrace, he willingly followed her out of the house and through the rain to their car, not letting go of her hand for more than ten minutes altogether during the entire long drive to his mother's.

When they pulled up the driveway, the moon shone brightly, and he quickly and quietly unlocked the door and led her inside. He finally did have to let go of her hand, an odd half empty, half chilled sensation filling the void where it had been, as he crept inside his mother's bedroom to inform her of this new change in plans. Sydney had stood politely outside the doorway despite his insistence that her presence wouldn't bother his mother, but he wasn't surprised to not find her waiting for him when he left the room.

A few steps down the hall rewarded him with the outline of her figure in an open doorway, the one that led to his old room, he remembered, his heart skipping a beat at the thought of his own sons sleeping where he had as a boy. Tiptoeing up behind her, he slowly wrapped his arms around her waist so as not to startle her, but she didn't flinch, always seemed to have been waiting for the comfort of his embrace.

There they were; his two little boys. They would always be just that, no matter how they grew; no difference acknowledged between them, both loved as fiercely as any caring father loves his own flesh and blood.

All news from Russia had been quiet these past few weeks; Bykov's group showed no signs of further activity, and as the days had worn on, Vaughn had even allowed himself to hope that this was how it would remain. Bykov's words still lurked within the darkest corners of his mind, would continue to haunt him, prick him with doubt even at the most serene moments. He would go to the ends of the earth to protect his family, all of it, would fight with more ferocity than he ever had before; for now, that would have to be enough.

As if attuned to Vaughn's thoughts, Ilya stirred at that moment, tossing restlessly beneath the blankets and beginning to whimper. His nightmares had mostly disappeared in those three and a half weeks, but every once in awhile one would creep up on him, capturing his unwitting little mind for its merciless torture. During these dark nights and unsuspecting moments, the wide-eyed, trembling tears would return with a vengeance, all the tranquil day between forgotten.

Both Vaughn and Sydney stepped forward so fluidly that for a moment they stood at the side of the playpen in the same position they had been in at the door. As Sydney leaned forward to soothe the whimpering little boy, Vaughn slid from behind her to the other side of the portable crib, tenderly lifting the still-sleeping Gabriel into his arms, smiling as his son instinctively snuggled against him.

Had he looked up only a second later, he would have missed it, something so mundane yet indescribably beautiful: that first interaction between Sydney and one of their boys, the wonder that filled her every time. She scooped a groggy and quivering Ilya into her arms and hugged him tightly against her, his tiny hands flinging their way around her neck as he tried to wiggle further into her embrace.

Even though the child had buried his face in the nape of her neck, his voice still held to those cooing baby tones and was peppered with fear and exhaustion, there was no mistaking his relieved and pleading near-sob in the sleepy silence of that very early morning.

"Mommy…"

After all their waiting and patient practice… there it was.

A streak of moonlight illuminated part of Sydney's face, capturing half of her features as clearly as a photograph and leaving memory and imagination to paint the missing frames. Shock, disbelief and a delirious satisfaction coalesced into a gorgeous fusion of all-encompassing wonder that nearly topped them both over; her with the overpowering experience of the emotions themselves, and him from simply watching as they played over her.

For a moment, he was almost jealous, wondered if his own reaction had been half as potent, been filled with even a fraction of the delicious satisfaction that he could practically see coursing through her in rhythm with her own heartbeats. But he didn't have time to consider anything further has he hurried to her side, she seemed to almost be swaying with the impact of the child's whispered delivery, and he quickly brought an arm up to steady her, willing himself to hold her up even when he didn't trust his own knees to do the same for himself.

She didn't fall, hadn't been about to, he realized, although that thought couldn't make him let her go. And neither would she, leaning back against him so that he really _was_ all that kept her on her feet, gently rocking the child as she held him tighter in her arms, not finding the strength or breath to speak until a handful of infinite seconds had tripped past.

"Mommy's here…"

Those words, that moment, the feel of her in his arms, almost did him in. He wasn't sure how he was able to keep standing and breathing, wouldn't admit that the sudden blurring of his vision might have been due to unshed tears. Leaning over, he kissed both their sons, comforting one and careful not to wake the other. Their mother was next, his lips impulsively seeking hers and lingering upon them, loath to tear themselves away.

"Syd…" he finally managed to breathe out eventually, feeling her stiffen at the sound of his voice, waiting breathlessly for him to continue. "I know it's a long drive and we only have a couch…"

He faltered, unsure why he was trembling here. They had slept under the same roof for so long now that he all but forgot what it was to fall asleep without her. Add to that the fact that they had slept (and… not slept) on airplane seats and cargo bays, couches, various chairs, cots, the floor, and so many other random places over the months that his sudden insecurity was almost silly.

But Sydney grinned, pushing the butterflies from her own stomach and seeming to catch onto his thoughts. "I don't think we're going to sleep much anyway."

He smiled in agreement, the little boys in their arms all that kept him from kissing her then and there, a sudden frantic need filling him, mocking him with the fact that he had not yet slept with his _wife_; and he knew that one more kiss, one more taste of her would be a tease, would overwhelm him because it simply _could not_ be enough.

And so, once again, he took her hand, leading her down the hallway and past his mother's smiling eyes. "Let's go home."

* * *

The End


End file.
